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TRENT'S  TRUST 
AND   OTHER  STORIES 


TRENT'S  TRUST 


AND   OTHER  STORIES 


BY 


BRET   HARTE 


BOSTON    AND    NEW   YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

(Otbe  fitoerjjibe  $re££,  Cambriboe 

1903 


COPYRIGHT,    1903,   BY   HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN   &  CO. 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  May,  igof 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

TRENT'S  TRUST 1 

MR.  MACGLOWRIE'S  WIDOW 97 

A  WARD  OF  COLONEL  STARBOTTLE'S 121 

PROSPER'S  "OLD  MOTHER" 155 

THE  CONVALESCENCE  OP  JACK  HAMLIN 181 

A  PUPIL  OF  CHESTNUT  RIDGE 211 

DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD 231 


396543 


TRENT'S  TRUST 


TRENT'S  TRUST  AND  OTHER 
STORIES 


TRENT'S   TRUST 


RANDOLPH  TRENT  stepped  from  the  Stockton  boat  on  the 
San  Francisco  wharf,  penniless,  friendless,  and  unknown. 
Hunger  might  have  been  added  to  his  trials,  for,  having 
paid  his  last  coin  in  passage  money,  he  had  been  a  day  and 
a  half  without  food.  Yet  he  knew  it  only  by  an  occasional 
lapse  into  weakness  as  much  mental  as  physical.  Never 
theless,  he  was  first  on  the  gangplank  to  land,  and  hurried 
feverishly  ashore,  in  that  vague  desire  for  action  and  change 
of  scene  common  to  such  irritation;  yet  after  mixing  for 
a  few  moments  with  the  departing  passengers,  each  selfishly 
hurrying  to  some  rendezvous  of  rest  or  business,  he  insen 
sibly  drew  apart  from  them,  with  the  instinct  of  a  vagabond 
and  outcast.  Although  he  was  conscious  that  he  was 
neither,  but  merely  an  unsuccessful  miner  suddenly  reduced 
to  the  point  of  soliciting  work  or  alms  of  any  kind,  he  took 
advantage  of  the  first  crossing  to  plunge  into  a  side  street, 
with  a  vague  sense  of  hiding  his  shame. 

A  rising  wind,  which  had  rocked  the  boat  for  the  last 
few  hours,  had  now  developed  into  a  strong  sou'wester, 
with  torrents  of  rain  which  swept  the  roadway.  His  well- 
worn  working  clothes,  fitted  to  the  warmer  Southern  mines, 
gave  him  more  concern  from  their  visible,  absurd  contrast 
to  the  climate  than  from  any  actual  sense  of  discomfort, 


4      ,\\  :   / ;'  :',;:  V:  BRENT'S  TRUST 


and  his  feverishness  defied  the  chill  of  his  soaking  gar 
ments,  as  he  hurriedly  faced  the  "blast  through  the  dimly 
lighted  street.  At  the  next  corner  he  paused;  he  had 
reached  another,  and,  from  its  dilapidated  appearance,  ap 
parently  an  older  wharf  than  that  where  he  had  landed, 
but,  like  the  first,  it  was  still  a  straggling  avenue  leading 
toward  the  higher  and  more  animated  part  of  the  city.  He 
again  mechanically  —  for  a  part  of  his  trouble  was  a  vague, 
undefined  purpose  —  turned  toward  it. 

In  his  feverish  exaltation  his  powers  of  perception  seemed 
to  be  quickened:  he  was  vividly  alive  to  the  incongruous, 
half-marine,  half-backwoods  character  of  the  warehouses 
and  commercial  buildings;  to  the  hull  of  a  stranded  ship 
already  built  into  a  block  of  rude  tenements;  to  the  dark 
stockaded  wall  of  a  house  framed  of  corrugated  iron,  and 
its  weird  contiguity  to  a  Swiss  chalet,  whose  galleries  were 
used  only  to  bear  the  signs  of  the  shops,  and  whose  frame 
had  been  carried  across  seas  in  sections  to  be  set  up  at  ran 
dom  here. 

Moving  past  these,  as  in  a  nightmare  dream,  of  which 
even  the  turbulency  of  the  weather  seemed  to  be  a  part,  he 
stumbled,  blinded,  panting,  and  unexpectedly,  with  no 
consciousness  of  his  rapid  pace  beyond  his  breathlessness, 
upon  the  dazzling  main  thoroughfare  of  the  city.  In  spite 
of  the  weather,  the  slippery  pavements  were  thronged  by 
hurrying  crowds  of  well-dressed  people,  again  all  intent  on 
their  own  purposes,  —  purposes  that  seemed  so  trifling  and 
unimportant  beside  his  own.  The  shops  were  brilliantly 
lighted,  exposing  their  brightest  wares  through  plate -glass 
windows;  a  jeweler's  glittered  with  precious  stones;  a 
fashionable  apothecary's  next  to  it  almost  outrivaled  it 
with  its  gorgeous  globes,  the  gold  and  green  precision  of 
its  shelves,  and  the  marble  and  silver  soda  fountain  like  a 
shrine  before  it.  All  this  specious  show  of  opulence  came 
upon  him  with  the  shock  of  contrast,  and  with  it  a  bitter 


TRENT'S  TRUST  5 

revulsion  of  feeling  more  hopeless  than  his  feverish  anx 
iety,  —  the  bitterness  of  disappointment. 

For  during  his  journey  he  had  been  buoyed  up  with  the 
prospect  of  finding  work  and  sympathy  in  this  youthful 
city,  —  a  prospect  founded  solely  on  his  inexperienced 
hopes.  For  this  he  had  exchanged  the  poverty  of  the 
mining  district,  —  a  poverty  that  had  nothing  ignoble  about 
it,  that  was  a  part  of  the  economy  of  nature,  and  shared 
with  his  fellow  men  and  the  birds  and  beasts  in  their  rude 
encampments.  He  had  given  up  the  brotherhood  of  the 
miner,  and  that  practical  help  and  sympathy  which  brought 
no  degradation  with  it,  for  this  rude  shock  of  self-inter 
ested,  self-satisfied  civilization.  He,  who  would  not  have 
shrunk  from  asking  rest,  food,  or  a  night's  lodging  at  the 
cabin  of  a  brother  miner  or  woodsman,  now  recoiled  sud 
denly  from  these  well-dressed  citizens.  What  madness  had 
sent  him  here,  an  intruder,  or,  even,  as  it  seemed  to  him 
in  his  dripping  clothes,  an  impostor  1  And  yet  these  were 
the  people  to  whom  he  had  confidently  expected  to  tell  his 
story,  and  who  would  cheerfully  assist  him  with  work! 
He  could  almost  anticipate  the  hard  laugh  or  brutal  hurried 
negative  in  their  faces.  In  his  foolish  heart  he  thanked 
God  he  had  not  tried  it.  Then  the  apathetic  recoil  which 
is  apt  to  follow  any  keen  emotion  overtook  him.  He  was 
dazedly  conscious  of  being  rudely  shoved  once  or  twice,  and 
even  heard  the  epithet  "  drunken  lout  "  from  one  who  had 
run  against  him. 

He  found  himself  presently  staring  vacantly  in  the  apothe 
cary's  window.  How  long  he  stood  there  he  could  not 
tell,  for  he  was  aroused  only  by  the  door  opening  in  front 
of  him,  and  a  young  girl  emerging  with  some  purchase  in 
her  hand.  He  could  see  that  she  was  handsomely  dressed 
and  quite  pretty,  and  as  she  passed  out  she  lifted  to  his 
withdrawing  figure  a  pair  of  calm,  inquiring  eyes,  which, 
however,  changed  to  a  look  of  half-wondering,  half-amused 


6  TRENT'S  TRUST 

pity  as  she  gazed.  Yet  that  look  of  pity  stung  his  pride 
more  deeply  than  all.  With  a  deliberate  effort  he  recovered 
his  energy.  No,  he  would  not  beg,  he  would  not  ask 
assistance  from  these  people;  he  would  go  back  —  any 
where  !  To  the  steamboat  first ;  they  might  let  him  sleep 
there,  give  him  a  meal,  and  allow  him  to  work  his  passage 
back  to  Stockton.  He  might  be  refused.  Well,  what 
then?  Well,  beyond,  there  was  the  bay!  He  laughed 
bitterly  —  his  mind  was  sane  enough  for  that  —  but  he 
kept  on  repeating  it  vaguely  to  himself,  as  he  crossed  the 
street  again,  and  once  more  made  his  way  to  the  wharf. 

The  wind  and  rain  had  increased,  but  he  no  longer 
heeded  them  in  his  feverish  haste  and  his  consciousness 
that  motion  could  alone  keep  away  that  dreadful  apathy 
which  threatened  to  overcloud  his  judgment.  And  he 
wished  while  he  was  able  to  reason  logically  to  make  up 
his  mind  to  end  this  unsupportable  situation  that  night. 
He  was  scarcely  twenty,  yet  it  seemed  to  him  that  it  had 
already  been  demonstrated  that  his  life  was  a  failure;  he 
was  an  orphan,  and  when  he  left  college  to  seek  his  own 
fortune  in  California,  he  believed  he  had  staked  his  all  upon 
that  venture  —  and  lost. 

That  bitterness  which  is  the  sudden  recoil  of  boyish  en 
thusiasm,  and  is  none  the  less  terrible  for  being  without 
experience  to  justify  it,  —  that  melancholy  we  are  too  apt 
to  look  back  upon  with  cynical  jeers  and  laughter  in  mid 
dle  age,  —  is  more  potent  than  we  dare  to  think,  and  it  was 
in  no  mere  pose  of  youthful  pessimism  that  Randolph  Trent 
now  contemplated  suicide.  Such  scraps  of  philosophy  as 
his  education  had  given  him  pointed  to  that  one  conclusion. 
And  it  was  the  only  refuge  that  pride  —  real  or  false  — 
offered  him  from  the  one  supreme  terror  of  youth  —  shame. 

The  street  was  deserted,  and  the  few  lights  he  had  pre 
viously  noted  in  warehouses  and  shops  were  extinguished. 
It  had  grown  darker  with  the  storm;  the  incongruous  build- 


TRENT'S  TRUST  7 

ings  on  either  side  had  become  misshapen  shadows;  the 
long  perspective  of  the  wharf  was  a  strange  gloom  from 
which  the  spars  of  a  ship  stood  out  like  the  cross  he  re 
membered  as  a  boy  to  have  once  seen  in  a  picture  of  the 
tempest-smitten  Calvary.  It  was  his  only  fancy  connected 
with  the  future  —  it  might  have  been  his  last,  for  suddenly 
one  of  the  planks  of  the  rotten  wharf  gave  way  beneath  his 
feet,  and  he  felt  himself  violently  precipitated  toward  the 
gurgling  and  oozing  tide  below.  He  threw  out  his  arms 
desperately,  caught  at  a  strong  girder,  drew  himself  up  with 
the  energy  of  desperation,  and  staggered  to  his  feet  again, 
safe  —  and  sane.  For  with  this  terrible  automatic  struggle 
to  avoid  that  death  he  was  courting  came  a  flash  of  reason. 
If  he  had  resolutely  thrown  himself  from  the  pier  head  as 
he  intended,  would  he  have  undergone  a  hopeless  revulsion 
like  this  ?  Was  he  sure  that  this  might  not  be,  after  all, 
the  terrible  penalty  of  self-destruction  —  this  inevitable 
fierce  protest  of  mind  and  body  when  too  late  ?  He  was 
momentarily  touched  with  a  sense  of  gratitude  at  his  escape, 
but  his  reason  told  him  it  was  not  from  his  accident,  but 
from  his  intention. 

He  was  trying  carefully  to  retrace  his  steps,  but  as  he 
did  so  he  saw  the  figure  of  a  man  dimly  lurching  toward 
him  out  of  the  darkness  of  the  wharf  and  the  crossed  yards 
of  the  ship.  A  gleam  of  hope  came  over  him,  for  the  emo 
tion  of  the  last  few  minutes  had  rudely  displaced  his  pride 
and  self-love.  He  would  appeal  to  this  stranger,  whoever 
he  was ;  there  was  more  chance  that  in  this  rude  locality  he 
would  be  a  belated  sailor  or  some  humbler  wayfarer,  and 
the  darkness  and  solitude  made  him  feel  less  ashamed.  By 
the  last  flickering  street  lamp  he  could  see  that  he  was  a 
man  about  his  own  size,  with  something  of  the  rolling  gait 
of  a  sailor,  which  was  increased  by  the  weight  of  a  travel 
ing  portmanteau  he  was  swinging  in  his  hand.  As  he  ap 
proached  he  evidently  detected  Randolph's  waiting  figure, 


8  TRENT'S  TRUST 

slackened  his  speed  slightly,  and  changed  his  portmanteau 
from  his  right  hand  to  his  left  as  a  precaution  for  defense. 

Randolph  felt  the  blood  flush  his  cheek  at  this  significant 
proof  of  his  disreputable  appearance,  but  determined  to  ac 
cost  him.  He  scarcely  recognized  the  sound  of  his  own 
voice  now  first  breaking  the  silence  for  hours,  but  he  made 
his  appeal.  The  man  listened,  made  a  slight  gesture  for 
ward  with  his  disengaged  hand,  and  impelled  Randolph 
slowly  up  to  the  street  lamp  until  it  shone  on  both  their 
faces.  Randolph  saw  a  man  a  few  years  his  senior,  with 
a  slightly  trimmed  beard  on  his  dark,  weather-beaten 
cheeks,  well-cut  features,  a  quick,  observant  eye,  and  a 
sailor's  upward  glance  and  bearing.  The  stranger  saw  a 
thin,  youthful,  anxious,  yet  refined  and  handsome  face 
beneath  straggling  damp  curls,  and  dark  eyes  preternaturally 
bright  with  suffering.  Perhaps  his  experienced  ear,  too, 
detected  some  harmony  with  all  this  in  Randolph's  voice. 

"And  you  want  something  to  eat,  a  night's  lodging,  and 
a  chance  of  work  afterward,"  the  stranger  repeated  with 
good-humored  deliberation. 

"Yes,"  said  Randolph. 

"You  look  it." 

Randolph  colored  faintly. 

"Do  you  ever  drink?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Randolph  wonderingly. 

"I  thought  I'd  ask,"  said  the  stranger,  "as  it  might 
play  hell  with  you  just  now  if  you  were  not  accustomed  to 
it.  Take  that.  Just  a  swallow,  you  know  —  that's  as 
good  as  a  jugful." 

He  handed  him  a  heavy  flask.  Randolph  felt  the  burn 
ing  liquor  scald  his  throat  and  fire  his  empty  stomach.  The 
stranger  turned  and  looked  down  the  vacant  wharf  to  the 
darkness  from  which  he  came.  Then  he  turned  to  Ran 
dolph  again  and  said  abruptly,  — 

"  Strong  enough  to  carry  this  bag  ?  " 


TRENT'S  TRUST  9 

"  Yes, "  said  Kandolph.  The  whiskey  —  possihly  the  re 
lief  —  had  given  him  new  strength.  Besides,  he  might 
earn  his  alms. 

"Take  it  up  to  room  74,  Niantic  Hotel  —  top  of  next 
street  to  this,  one  block  that  way  —  and  wait  till  I  come. " 

"  What  name  shall  I  say  ?  "  asked  Eandolph. 

"Needn't  say  any.  I  ordered  the  room  a  week  ago. 
Stop;  there's  the  key.  Go  in;  change  your  togs;  you'll 
find  something  in  that  bag  that  '11  fit  you.  Wait  for  me. 
Stop  —  no;  you'd  better  get  some  grub  there  first."  He 
fumbled  in  his  pockets,  but  fruitlessly.  "No  matter. 
You  '11  find  a  buckskin  purse,  with  some  scads  in  it,  in  the 
bag.  So  long."  And  before  Randolph  could  thank  him, 
he  lurched  away  again  into  the  semi-darkness  of  the  wharf. 

Overflowing  with  gratitude  at  a  hospitality  so  like  that 
of  his  reckless  brethren  of  the  mines,  Randolph  picked  up 
the  portmanteau  and  started  for  the  hotel.  He  walked 
warily  now,  with  a  new  interest  in  life,  and  then,  sud 
denly  thinking  of  his  own  miraculous  escape,  he  paused, 
wondering  if  he  ought  not  to  warn  his  benefactor  of  the 
perils  of  the  rotten  wharf ;  but  he  had  already  disappeared. 
The  bag  was  not  heavy,  but  he  found  that  in  his  exhausted 
state  this  new  exertion  was  telling,  and  he  was  glad  when 
he  reached  the  hotel.  Equally  glad  was  he  in  his  dripping 
clothes  to  slip  by  the  porter,  and  with  the  key  in  his 
pocket  ascend  unnoticed  to  74. 

Yet  had  his  experience  been  larger  he  might  have  spared 
himself  that  sensitiveness.  For  the  hotel  was  one  of  those 
great  caravansaries  popular  with  the  returning  miner.  It 
received  him  and  his  gold  dust  in  his  worn-out  and  bedrag 
gled  working  clothes,  and  returned  him  the  next  day  as  a 
well-dressed  citizen  on  Montgomery  Street.  It  was  hard 
indeed  to  recognize  the  unshaven,  unwashed,  and  unkempt 
"arrival"  one  met  on  the  principal  staircase  at  night  in 
the  scrupulously  neat  stranger  one  sat  opposite  to  at  break- 


10  TRENT'S  TRUST 

fast  the  next  morning.  In  this  daily  whirl  of  mutation  all 
identity  was  swamped,  as  Randolph  learned  to  know. 

At  present,  finding  himself  in  a  comfortable  bedroom, 
his  first  act  was  to  change  his  wet  clothes,  which  in  the 
warmer  temperature  and  the  decline  of  his  feverishness  now 
began  to  chill  him.  He  opened  the  portmanteau  and  found 
a  complete  suit  of  clothing,  evidently  a  foreign  make,  well 
preserved,  as  if  for  "shore-going."  His  pride  would  have 
preferred  a  humbler  suit  as  lessening  his  obligation,  but 
there  was  no  other.  He  discovered  the  purse,  a  chamois 
leather  bag  such  as  miners  and  travelers  carried,  which  con 
tained  a  dozen  gold  pieces  and  some  paper  notes.  Taking 
from  it  a  single  coin  to  defray  the  expenses  of  a  meal,  he 
restrapped  the  bag,  and  leaving  the  key  in  the  door  lock 
for  the  benefit  of  his  returning  host,  made  his  way  to  the 
dining  room. 

For  a  moment  he  was  embarrassed  when  the  waiter  ap 
proached  him  inquisitively,  but  it  was  only  to  learn  the 
number  of  his  room  to  "  charge "  the  meal.  He  ate  it 
quickly,  but  not  voraciously,  for  his  appetite  had  not  yet 
returned,  and  he  was  eager  to  get  back  to  the  room  and  see 
the  stranger  again  and  return  to  him  the  coin  which  was  no 
longer  necessary. 

But  the  stranger  had  not  yet  arrived  when  he  reached 
the  room.  Over  an  hour  had  elapsed  since  their  strange 
meeting.  A  new  fear  came  upon  him:  was  it  possible  he 
had  mistaken  the  hotel,  and  his  benefactor  was  awaiting 
him  elsewhere,  perhaps  even  beginning  to  suspect  not  only 
his  gratitude  but  his  honesty!  The  thought  made  him 
hot  again,  but  he  was  helpless.  Not  knowing  the  stranger's 
name,  he  could  not  inquire  without  exposing  his  situation 
to  the  landlord.  But  again,  there  was  the  key,  and  it  was 
scarcely  possible  that  it  fitted  another  74  in  another  hotel. 
He  did  not  dare  to  leave  the  room,  but  sat  by  the  window, 
peering  through  the  streaming  panes  into  the  storm-swept 


TKENT'S   TRUST  11 

street  below.  Gradually  the  fatigue  his  excitement  had 
hitherto  kept  away  began  to  overcome  him;  his  eyes  once 
or  twice  closed  during  his  vigil,  his  head  nodded  against 
the  pane.  He  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room  to 
shake  off  his  drowsiness.  Another  hour  passed  —  nine 
o'clock,  blown  in  fitful,  far-off  strokes  from  some  wind- 
rocked  steeple.  Still  no  stranger.  How  inviting  the  bed 
looked  to  his  weary  eyes!  The  man  had  told  him  he 
wanted  rest;  he  could  lie  down  on  the  bed  in  his  clothes 
until  he  came.  He  would  waken  quickly  and  be  ready  for 
his  benefactor's  directions.  It  was  a  great  temptation.  He 
yielded  to  it.  His  head  had  scarcely  sunk  upon  the  pillow 
before  he  slipped  into  a  profound  and  dreamless  sleep. 

He  awoke  with  a  start,  and  for  a  few  moments  lay 
vaguely  staring  at  the  sunbeams  that  stretched  across  his 
bed  before  he  could  recall  himself.  The  room  was  exactly 
as  before,  the  portmanteau  strapped  and  pushed  under  the 
table  as  he  had  left  it.  There  came  a  tap  at  the  door  — 
the  chambermaid  to  do  up  the  room.  She  had  been  there 
once  already,  but  seeing  him  asleep,  she  had  forborne  to 
wake  him.  Apparently  the  spectacle  of  a  gentleman  lying 
on  the  bed  fully  dressed,  even  to  his  boots,  was  not  an 
unusual  one  at  that  hotel,  for  she  made  no  comment.  It 
was  twelve  o'clock,  but  she  would  come  again  later. 

He  was  bewildered.  He  had  slept  the  round  of  the 
clock  —  that  was  natural  after  his  fatigue  —  but  where  was 
his  benefactor?  The  lateness  of  the  time  forbade  the  con 
clusion  that  he  had  merely  slept  elsewhere;  he  would  as 
suredly  have  returned  by  this  time  to  claim  his  portman 
teau.  The  portmanteau !  He  unstrapped  it  and  examined 
the  contents  again.  They  were  undisturbed  as  he  had  left 
them  the  night  before.  There  was  a  further  change  of 
linen,  the  buckskin  bag,  which  he  could  see  now  contained 
a  couple  of  Bank  of  England  notes,  with  some  foreign  gold 
mixed  with  American  half-eagles,  and  a  cheap,  rough 


12  TRENT'S  TRUST 

memorandum  book  clasped  with  elastic,  containing  a  letter 
in  a  boyish  hand  addressed  "Dear  Daddy"  and  signed 
"Bobby,"  and  a  photograph  of  a  boy  taken  by  a  foreign 
photographer  at  Callao,  as  the  printed  back  denoted,  but  no 
thing  giving  any  clue  whatever  to  the  name  of  the  owner. 

A  strange  idea  seized  him:  did  the  portmanteau  really 
belong  to  the  man  who  had  given  it  to  him  ?  Had  he  been 
the  innocent  receiver  of  stolen  goods  from  some  one  who 
wished  to  escape  detection  ?  He  recalled  now  that  he  had 
heard  stories  of  robbery  of  luggage  by  thieves  —  "  Sydney 
ducks  "  —  on  the  deserted  wharves,  and  remembered,  too, 
—  he  could  not  tell  why  the  thought  had  escaped  him  be 
fore,  —  that  the  man  had  spoken  with  an  English  accent. 
But  the  next  moment  he  recalled  his  frank  and  open  man 
ner,  and  his  mind  cleared  of  all  unworthy  suspicion.  It 
was  more  than  likely  that  his  benefactor  had  taken  this 
delicate  way  of  making  a  free,  permanent  gift  for  that  tem 
porary  service.  Yet  he  smiled  faintly  at  the  return  of  that 
youthful  optimism  which  had  caused  him  so  much  suffering. 

Nevertheless,  something  must  be  done :  he  must  try  to 
find  the  man;  still  more  important,  he  must  seek  work  be 
fore  this  dubious  loan  was  further  encroached  upon.  He 
restrapped  the  portmanteau  and  replaced  it  under  the  table, 
locked  the  door,  gave  the  key  to  the  office  clerk,  saying 
that  any  one  who  called  upon  him  was  to  await  his  return, 
and  sallied  forth.  A  fresh  wind  and  a  blue  sky  of  scud 
ding  clouds  were  all  that  remained  of  last  night's  storm. 
As  he  made  his  way  to  the  fateful  wharf,  still  deserted 
except  by  an  occasional  "wharf-rat,"  —  as  the  longshore 
vagrant  or  petty  thief  was  called,  —  he  wondered  at  his  own 
temerity  of  last  night,  and  the  trustfulness  of  his  friend  in 
yielding  up  his  portmanteau  to  a  stranger  in  such  a  place.  A 
low  drinking  saloon,  feebly  disguised  as  a  junk  shop,  stood 
at  the  corner,  with  slimy  green  steps  leading  to  the  water. 

The  wharf  was  slowly  decaying,  and  here  and  there  were 


TRENT'S  TRUST  13 

occasional  gaps  in  the  planking,  as  dangerous  as  the  one 
from  which  he  had  escaped  the  night  before.  He  thought 
again  of  the  warning  he  might  have  given  to  the  stranger; 
but  he  reflected  that  as  a  seafaring  man  he  must  have  been 
familiar  with  the  locality  where  he  had  landed.  But  had 
he  landed  there?  To  Kandolph's  astonishment,  there  was 
no  sign  or  trace  of  any  late  occupation  of  the  wharf,  and 
the  ship  whose  crossyards  he  had  seen  dimly  through  the 
darkness  the  night  before  was  no  longer  there.  She  might 
have  "  warped  out "  in  the  early  morning,  but  there  was  no 
trace  of  her  in  the  stream  or  offing  beyond.  A  bark  and 
brig  quite  dismantled  at  an  adjacent  wharf  seemed  to  accent 
the  loneliness.  Beyond,  the  open  channel  between  him 
and  Verba  Buena  Island  was  racing  with  white-maned  seas 
and  sparkling  in  the  shifting  sunbeams.  The  scudding 
clouds  above  him  drove  down  the  steel-blue  sky.  The 
lateen  sails  of  the  Italian  fishing  boats  were  like  shreds 
of  cloud,  too,  blown  over  the  blue  and  distant  bay.  His 
ears  sang,  his  eyes  blinked,  his  pulses  throbbed,  with  the 
untiring,  fierce  activity  of  a  San  Francisco  day. 

With  something  of  its  restlessness  he  hurried  back  to 
the  hotel.  Still  the  stranger  was  not  there,  and  no  one 
had  called  for  him.  The  room  had  been  put  in  order;  the 
portmanteau,  that  sole  connecting  link  with  his  last  night's 
experience,  was  under  the  table.  He  drew  it  out  again, 
and  again  subjected  it  to  a  minute  examination.  A  few 
toilet  articles,  not  of  the  best  quality,  which  he  had  over 
looked  at  first,  the  linen,  the  buckskin  purse,  the  memo 
randum  book,  and  the  suit  of  clothes  he  stood  in,  still  com 
prised  all  he  knew  of  his  benefactor.  He  counted  the 
money  in  the  purse;  it  amounted,  with  the  Bank  of  Eng 
land  notes,  to  about  seventy  dollars,  as  he  could  roughly 
guess.  There  was  a  scrap  of  paper,  the  torn-off , margin  of 
a  newspaper,  lying  in  the  purse,  with  an  address  hastily 
scribbled  in  pencil.  It  gave,  however,  no  name,  only  a 


14  TRENT'S  TRUST 

number:  "85  California  Street."  It  might  be  a  clue.  He 
put  it,  with  the  purse,  carefully  in  his  pocket,  and  after 
hurriedly  partaking  of  his  forgotten  breakfast,  again  started 
out. 

He  presently  found  himself  in  the  main  thoroughfare  of 
last  night,  which  he  now  knew  to  be  Montgomery  Street. 
It  was  more  thronged  than  then,  but  he  failed  to  be  im 
pressed,  as  then,  with  the  selfish  activity  of  the  crowd. 
Yet  he  was  half  conscious  that  his  own  brighter  fortune, 
more  decent  attire,  and  satisfied  hunger  had  something  to 
do  with  this  change,  and  he  glanced  hurriedly  at  the  drug 
gist's  broad  plate-glass  windows,  with  a  faint  hope  that  the 
young  girl  whose  amused  pity  he  had  awakened  might  be 
there  again.  He  found  California  Street  quickly,  and  in 
a  few  moments  he  stood  before  No.  85.  He  was  a  little  dis 
turbed  to  find  it  a  rather  large  building,  and  that  it  bore 
the  inscription  "Bank."  Then  came  the  usual  shock  to 
his  mercurial  temperament,  and  for  the  first  time  he  began 
to  consider  the  absurd  hopelessness  of  his  clue. 

He,  however,  entered  desperately,  and  approaching  the 
window  of  the  receiving  teller,  put  the  question  he  had 
formulated  in  his  mind :  Could  they  give  him  any  informa 
tion  concerning  a  customer  or  correspondent  who  had  just 
arrived  in  San  Francisco  and  was  putting  up  at  the  Niantic 
Hotel,  room  74?  He  felt  his  face  flushing,  but,  to  his 
astonishment,  the  clerk  manifested  no  surprise.  "And  you 
don't  know  his  name?"  said  the  clerk  quietly.  "Wait  a 
moment. "  He  moved  away,  and  Randolph  saw  him  speak 
ing  to  one  of  the  other  clerks,  who  consulted  a  large  regis 
ter.  In  a  few  minutes  he  returned.  "We  don't  have 
many  customers, "  he  began  politely,  "  who  leave  only  their 
hotel-room  addresses, "  when  he  was  interrupted  by  a  mum 
bling  protest  from  one  of  the  other  clerks.  "That 's  very 
different,"  he  replied  to  his  fellow  clerk,  and  then  turned 
to  Randolph.  "I  'm  afraid  we  cannot  help  you;  but  I  '11 


TRENT'S  TRUST  15 

make  other  inquiries  if  you  '11  come  back  in  ten  minutes." 
Satisfied  to  be  relieved  from  the  present  perils  of  his  ques 
tioning,  and  doubtful  of  returning,  Randolph  turned  away. 
But  as  he  left  the  building  he  saw  a  written  notice  on  the 
swinging  door,  "Wanted:  a  Night  Porter  ;"  and  this  one 
chance  of  employment  determined  his  return. 

When  he  again  presented  himself  at  the  window  the 
clerk  motioned  him  to  step  inside  through  a  lifted  rail. 
Here  he  found  himself  confronted  by  the  clerk  and  another 
man,  distinguished  by  a  certain  air  of  authority,  a  keen 
gray  eye,  and  singularly  compressed  lips  set  in  a  closely 
clipped  beard.  The  clerk  indicated  him  deferentially  but 
briefly  —  everybody  was  astonishingly  brief  and  business 
like  there  —  as  the  president.  The  president  absorbed  and 
possessed  Randolph  with  eyes  that  never  seemed  to  leave 
him.  Then  leaning  back  against  the  counter,  which  he 
lightly  grasped  with  both  hands,  he  said:  "We  've  sent  to 
the  Niantic  Hotel  to  inquire  about  your  man.  He  ordered 
his  room  by  letter,  giving  no  name.  He  arrived  there  on 
time  last  night,  slept  there,  and  has  occupied  the  room  No. 
74  ever  since.  We  don't  know  him  from  Adam,  but"  — 
his  eyes  never  left  Randolph's  —  "from  the  description  the 
landlord  gave  our  clerk,  you  're  the  man  himself." 

For  an  instant  Randolph  flushed  crimson.  The  natural 
mistake  of  the  landlord  flashed  upon  him,  his  own  stupid 
ity  in  seeking  this  information,  the  suspicious  predicament 
in  which  he  was  now  placed,  and  the  necessity  of  telling 
the  whole  truth.  But  the  president's  eye  was  at  once  a 
threat  and  an  invitation.  He  felt  himself  becoming  sud 
denly  cool,  and,  with  a  business  brevity  equal  to  their 
own,  said :  — 

"  I  was  looking  for  work  last  night  on  the  wharf.  He 
employed  me  to  carry  his  bag  to  the  hotel,  saying  I  was 
to  wait  for  him.  I  have  waited  since  nine  o'clock  last 
night  in  his  room,  and  he  has  not  come." 


16  TRENT'S  TRUST 

"What  are  you  in  such  a  d d  hurry  for?  He's 

trusted  you;  can't  you  trust  him?  You  've  got  his  bag?  " 
returned  the  president. 

Kandolph  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "  I  want  to  know 
what  to  do  with  it,"  he  said. 

"  Hang  on  to  it.      What 's  in  it  ?  " 

"Some  clothes  and  a  purse  containing  about  seventy  dol 
lars." 

"  That  ought  to  pay  you  for  carrying  it  and  storage  after 
ward,"  said  the  president  decisively.  "What  made  you 
come  here  ? " 

"I  found  this  address  in  the  purse,"  said  Kandolph,  pro 
ducing  it. 

"Is  that  all?" 

"Yes." 

"And  that's  the  only  reason  you  came  here,  to  find  an 
owner  for  that  bag  ?  " 

"Yes." 

The  president  disengaged  himself  from  the  counter. 

"I'm  sorry  to  have  given  you  so  much  trouble,"  said 
Kandolph  concludingly.  "Thank  you  and  good-morning." 

"  Good-morning." 

As  Kandolph  turned  away  he  remembered  the  advertise 
ment  for  the  night  watchman.  He  hesitated  and  turned 
back.  He  was  a  little  surprised  to  find  that  the  president 
had  not  gone  away,  but  was  looking  after  him. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  see  you  want  a  night  watch 
man.  Could  I  do  ?  "  said  Kandolph  resolutely. 

"No.  You're  a  stranger  here,  and  we  want  some  one 
who  knows  the  city,  —  Dewslake,"he  returned  to  the  re 
ceiving  teller,  "who  's  taken  Larkin's  place?  " 

"No  one  yet,"  returned  the  teller,  "but,"  he  added  par 
enthetically,  "Judge  Boompointer,  you  know,  was  speak 
ing  to  you  about  his  son." 

"Yes,  I  know  that."     To  Kandolph:   "Go  round  to  my 


TRENT'S  TRUST  17 

private  room  and  wait  for  me.  I  won't  be  as  long  as  your 
friend  last  night."  Then  he  added  to  a  negro  porter, 
"Show  him  round  there." 

He  moved  away,  stopping  at  one  or  two  desks  to  give 
an  order  to  the  clerks,  and  once  before  the  railing  to  speak 
to  a  depositor.  Randolph  followed  the  negro  into  the  hall, 
through  a  "board  room,"  and  into  a  handsomely  furnished 
office.  He  had  not  to  wait  long.  In  a  few  moments  the 
president  appeared  with  an  older  man  whose  gray  side 
whiskers,  cut  with  a  certain  precision,  and  whose  black 
and  white  checked  neckerchief,  tied  in  a  formal  bow,  pro 
claimed  the  English  respectability  of  the  period.  At  the 
president's  dictation  he  took  down  Randolph's  name,  na 
tivity,  length  of  residence,  and  occupation  in  California. 
This  concluded,  the  president,  glancing  at  his  companion, 
said  briefly,  — 

"Well?" 

"He  had  better  come  to-morrow  morning  at  nine,"  was 
the  answer. 

"And  ask  for  Mr.  Dingwall,  the  deputy  manager," 
added  the  president,  with  a  gesture  that  was  at  once  an 
introduction  and  a  dismissal  to  both. 

Randolph  had  heard  before  of  this  startling  brevity  of 
San  Francisco  business  detail,  yet  he  lingered  until  the 
door  closed  on  Mr.  Dingwall.  His  heart  was  honestly 
full. 

"  You  have  been  very  kind,  sir, "  he  stammered. 

"I  haven't  run  half  the  risks  of  that  chap  last  night," 
said  the  president  grimly,  the  least  tremor  of  a  smile  on 
his  set  mouth. 

"  If  you  would  only  let  me  know  what  I  can  do  to  thank 
you,"  persisted  Randolph. 

"Trust  the  man  that  trusts  you,  and  hang  on  to  your 
trust,"  returned  the  president  curtly,  with  a  parting  nod. 

Elated  and  filled  with  high  hopes  as  Randolph  was,  he 


18  TRENT'S  TRUST 

felt  some  trepidation  in  returning  to  his  hotel.  He  had  to 
face  his  landlord  with  some  explanation  of  the  bank's  in 
quiry.  The  landlord  might  consider  him  an  impostor,  and 
request  him  to  leave,  or,  more  dreadful  still,  insist  upon 
keeping  the  hag.  He  thought  of  the  parting  words  of  the 
president,  and  resolved  upon  "hanging  on  to  his  trust," 
whatever  happened.  But  he  was  agreeably  surprised  to 
find  that  he  was  received  at  the  office  with  a  certain  respect 
not  usually  shown  to  the  casual  visitor.  "Your  caller 
turned  up  to-day  "  — Randolph  started — "from  the  Eureka 
Bank,"  continued  the  clerk.  "Sorry  we  could  not  give 
your  name,  but  you  know  you  only  left  a  deposit  in  your 
letter  and  sent  a  messenger  for  your  key  yesterday  after 
noon.  When  you  came  you  went  straight  to  your  room. 
Perhaps  you  would  like  to  register  now."  Randolph  no 
longer  hesitated,  reflecting  that  he  could  explain  it  all  later 
to  his  unknown  benefactor,  and  wrote  his  name  boldly. 
But  he  was  still  more  astonished  when  the  clerk  continued : 
"  I  reckon  it  was  a  case  of  identifying  you  for  a  draft  —  it 
often  happens  here  —  and  we 'd  have  been  glad  to  do  it 
for  you.  But  the  bank  clerk  seemed  satisfied  with  our 
description  of  you  —  you  're  easily  described,  you  know  " 
(this  in  a  parenthesis,  complimentarily  intended)  —  "  so 
it 's  all  right.  We  can  give  you  a  better  room  lower  down, 
if  you  're  going  to  stay  longer."  Not  knowing  whether  to 
laugh  or  to  be  embarrassed  at  this  extraordinary  conclusion 
of  the  blunder,  Randolph  answered  that  he  had  just  come 
from  the  bank,  adding,  with  a  pardonable  touch  of  youth 
ful  pride,  that  he  was  entering  the  bank's  employment  the 
next  day. 

Another  equally  agreeable  surprise  met  him  on  his  arrival 
there  the  next  morning.  Without  any  previous  examina 
tion  or  trial  he  was  installed  at  once  as  a  corresponding 
clerk  in  the  place  of  one  just  promoted  to  a  sub-agency  in 
the  interior.  His  handwriting,  his  facility  of  composition, 


TRENT'S  TRUST  19 

had  all  been  taken  for  granted,  or  perhaps  predicated  upon 
something  the  president  had  discerned  in  that  one  quick, 
absorbing  glance.  He  ventured  to  express  the  thought  to 
his  neighbor. 

"The  boss,"  said  that  gentleman,  "can  size  a  man  in 
and  out,  and  all  through,  in  about  the  time  it  would  take 
you  and  me  to  tell  the  color  of  his  hair.  He  don't  make 
mistakes,  you  bet;  but  old  Dingy  —  the  dep  —  you  settled 
with  your  clothes." 

"  My  clothes !  "  echoed  Randolph,  with  a  faint  flush. 

"Yes,  English  cut  —  that  fetched  him." 

And  so  his  work  began.  His  liberal  salary,  which 
seemed  to  him  munificent  in  comparison  with  his  previous 
earnings  in  the  mines,  enabled  him  to  keep  the  contents  of 
the  buckskin  purse  intact,  and  presently  to  return  the  bor 
rowed  suit  of  clothes  to  the  portmanteau.  The  mysterious 
owner  should  find  everything  as  when  he  first  placed  it  in 
his  hands.  With  the  quick  mobility  of  youth  and  his  own 
rather  mercurial  nature,  he  had  begun  to  forget,  or  perhaps 
to  be  a  little  ashamed  of  his  keen  emotions  and  sufferings 
the  night  of  his  arrival,  until  that  night  was  recalled  to 
him  in  a  singular  way. 

One  Sunday  a  vague  sense  of  duty  to  his  still  missing 
benefactor  impelled  him  to  spend  part  of  his  holiday  upon 
the  wharves.  He  had  rambled  away  among  the  shipping 
at  the  newer  pier  slips,  and  had  gazed  curiously  upon  decks 
where  a  few  seamen  or  officers  in  their  Sunday  apparel 
smoked,  paced,  or  idled,  trying  vainly  to  recognize  the  face 
and  figure  which  had  once  briefly  flashed  out  under  the 
flickering  wharf  lamp.  Was  the  stranger  a  shipmaster  who 
had  suddenly  transferred  himself  to  another  vessel  on  an 
other  voyage  ?  A  crowd  which  had  gathered  around  some 
landing  steps  nearer  shore  presently  attracted  his  attention. 
He  lounged  toward  it  and  looked  over  the  shoulders  of  the 
bystanders  down  upon  the  steps.  A  boat  was  lying  there, 


20  TRENT'S  TRUST 

which  had  just  towed  in  the  body  of  a  man  found  floating 
on  the  water.  Its  features  were  already  swollen  and  defaced 
like  a  hideous  mask ;  its  body  distended  beyond  all  propor 
tion,  even  to  the  bursting  of  its  sodden  clothing.  A  tremu 
lous  fascination  came  over  Randolph  as  he  gazed.  The  by 
standers  made  their  brief  comments,  a  few  authoritatively 
and  with  the  air  of  nautical  experts. 

"Been  in  the  water  about  a  week,  I  reckon." 

"'Bout  that  time;  just  rucked  up  and  floated  with  the 
tide." 

"Not  much  chance  o'  spottin'  him  by  his  looks,  eh? " 

"Nor  anything  else,  you  bet.  E-eg'larly  cleaned  out. 
Look  at  his  pockets." 

"Wharf-rats  or  shanghai  men?" 

"Betwixt  and  between,  I  reckon.  Man  who  found  him 
says  he  's  got  an  ugly  cut  just  back  of  his  head.  Ye  can't 
see  it  for  his  floating  hair." 

"Wonder  if  he  got  it  before  or  after  he  got  in  the  water." 

"That 's  for  the  coroner  to  say." 

"Much  he  knows  or  cares,"  said  another  cynically. 
"It  '11  just  be  a  case  of  '  Found  drowned  '  and  the  regular 
twenty-five  dollars  to  him,  and  five  to  the  man  who  found 
the  body.  That 's  enough  for  him  to  know." 

Thrilled  with  a  vague  anxiety,  Eandolph  edged  forward 
for  a  nearer  view  of  the  wretched  derelict  still  gently  un 
dulating  on  the  towline.  The  closer  he  looked  the  more 
he  was  impressed  by  the  idea  of  some  frightful  mask  that 
hid  a  face  that  refused  to  be  recognized.  But  his  attention 
became  fixed  on  a  man  who  was  giving  some  advice  or 
orders  and  examining  the  body  scrutinizingly.  Without 
knowing  why,  Randolph  felt  a  sudden  aversion  to  him, 
which  was  deepened  when  the  man,  lifting  his  head,  met 
Randolph's  eyes  with  a  pair  of  shifting  yet  aggressive  ones. 
He  bore,  nevertheless,  an  odd,  weird  likeness  to  the  miss 
ing  man  Randolph  was  seeking,  which  strangely  troubled 


TRENT'S  TRUST  21 

him.  As  the  stranger's  eyes  followed  him  and  lingered 
with  a  singular  curiosity  on  Randolph's  dress,  he  remem 
bered  with  a  sudden  alarm  that  he  was  wearing  the  suit  of 
the  missing  man.  A  quick  impulse  to  conceal  himself  came 
upon  him,  but  he  as  quickly  conquered  it,  and  returned 
the  man's  cold  stare  with  an  anger  he  could  not  account  for, 
but  which  made  the  stranger  avert  his  eyes.  Then  the 
man  got  into  the  boat  beside  the  boatman,  and  the  two 
again  towed  away  the  corpse.  The  head  rose  and  fell  with 
the  swell,  as  if  nodding  a  farewell.  But  it  was  still  defi 
ant,  under  its  shapeless  mask,  that  even  wore  a  smile,  as  if 
triumphant  in  its  hideous  secret. 

II 

The  opinion  of  the  cynical  bystander  on  the  wharf 
proved  to  be  a  correct  one.  The  coroner's  jury  brought  in 
the  usual  verdict  of  "Pound  drowned,"  which  was  followed 
by  the  usual  newspaper  comment  upon  the  insecurity  of 
the  wharves  and  the  inadequate  protection  of  the  police. 

Randolph  Trent  read  it  with  conflicting  emotions.  The 
possibility  he  had  conceived  of  the  corpse  being  that  of  his 
benefactor  was  dismissed  when  he  had  seen  its  face,  al 
though  he  was  sometimes  tortured  with  doubt,  and  a  wonder 
if  he  might  not  have  learned  more  by  attending  the  in 
quest.  And  there  was  still  the  suggestion  that  the  myste 
rious  disappearance  might  have  been  accomplished  by  vio 
lence  like  this.  He  was  satisfied  that  if  he  had  attempted 
publicly  to  identify  the  corpse  as  his  missing  friend  he 
would  have  laid  himself  open  to  suspicion  with  a  story  he 
could  hardly  corroborate. 

He  had  once  thought  of  confiding  his  doubts  to  Mr. 
Revelstoke,  the  bank  president,  but  he  had  a  dread  of  that 
gentleman's  curt  conclusions  and  remembered  his  injunction 
to  "hang  on  to  his  trust."  Since  his  installation,  Mr. 
Revelstoke  had  merely  acknowledged  his  presence  by  a 


22  TRENT'S  TEUST 

good-humored  nod  now  and  then,  although  Randolph  had 
an  instinctive  feeling  that  he  was  perfectly  informed  as  to 
his  progress.  It  was  wiser  for  Randolph  to  confine  him 
self  strictly  to  his  duty  and  keep  his  own  counsel. 

Yet  he  was  young,  and  it  was  not  strange  that  in  his 
idle  moments  his  thoughts  sometimes  reverted  to  the 
pretty  girl  he  had  seen  on  the  night  of  his  arrival,  nor  that 
he  should  wish  to  parade  his  better  fortune  before  her 
curious  eyes.  Neither  was  it  strange  that  in  this  city, 
whose  day-long  sunshine  brought  every  one  into  the  public 
streets,  he  should  presently  have  that  opportunity.  It 
chanced  that  one  afternoon,  being  in  the  residential  quarter, 
he  noticed  a  well-dressed  young  girl  walking  before  him  in 
company  with  a  delicate  looking  boy  of  seven  or  eight 
years.  Something  in  the  carriage  of  her  graceful  figure, 
something  in  a  certain  consciousness  and  ostentation  of  co 
quetry  toward  her  youthful  escort,  attracted  his  attention. 
Yet  it  struck  him  that  she  was  neither  related  to  the  child 
nor  accustomed  to  children's  ways,  and  that  she  somewhat 
unduly  emphasized  this  to  the  passers-by,  particularly  those 
of  his  own  sex,  who  seemed  to  be  greatly  attracted  by  her 
evident  beauty.  Presently  she  ascended  the  steps  of  a 
handsome  dwelling,  evidently  their  home,  and  as  she 
turned  he  saw  her  face.  It  was  the  girl  he  remembered. 
As  her  eye  caught  his,  he  blushed  with  the  consciousness 
of  their  former  meeting;  yet,  in  the  very  embarrassment 
of  the  moment,  he  lifted  his  hat  in  recognition.  But  the 
salutation  was  met  only  by  a  cold,  critical  stare.  Ran 
dolph  bit  his  lip  and  passed  on.  His  reason  told  him  she 
was  right,  his  instinct  told  him  she  was  unfair;  the  con 
tradiction  fascinated  him. 

Yet  he  was  destined  to  see  her  again.  A  month  later, 
while  seated  at  his  desk,  which  overlooked  the  teller's 
counter,  he  was  startled  to  see  her  enter  the  bank  and 
approach  the  counter.  She  was  already  withdrawing  a 


TRENT'S  TRUST  23 

glove  from  her  little  hand,  ready  to  affix  her  signature  to 
the  receipted  form  to  be  proffered  by  the  teller.  As  she 
received  the  gold  in  exchange,  he  could  see,  by  the  in 
creased  politeness  of  that  official,  his  evident  desire  to  pro 
long  the  transaction,  and  the  sidelong  glances  of  his  fellow 
clerks,  that  she  was  apparently  no  stranger  but  a  recognized 
object  of  admiration.  Although  her  face  was  slightly 
flushed  at  the  moment,  Randolph  observed  that  she  wore 
a  certain  proud  reserve,  which  he  half  hoped  was  intended 
as  a  check  to  these  attentions.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
the  counter,  and  this  gave  him  a  brief  opportunity  to  study 
her  delicate  beauty.  For  in  a  few  moments  she  was  gone; 
whether  she  had  in  her  turn  observed  him  he  could  not 
say.  Presently  he  rose  and  sauntered,  with  what  he  be 
lieved  was  a  careless  air,  toward  the  paying  teller's  counter 
and  the  receipt,  which,  being  the  last,  was  plainly  exposed 
on  the  file  of  that  day's  "taking."  He  was  startled  by  a 
titter  of  laughter  from  the  clerks  and  by  the  teller  ironi 
cally  lifting  the  file  and  placing  it  before  him. 

"That 's  her  name,  sonny,  but  I  did  n't  think  that  you  'd 
tumble  to  it  quite  as  quick  as  the  others.  Every  new  man 
manages  to  saunter  round  here  to  get  a  sight  of  that  re 
ceipt,  and  I  've  seen  hoary  old  depositors  outside  edge 
around  inside,  pretendin'  they  wanted  to  see  the  dep,  jest 
to  feast  their  eyes  on  that  girl's  name.  Take  a  good  look 
at  it  and  paste  a  copy  in  your  hat,  for  that 's  all  you  '11 
know  of  her,  you  bet.  Perhaps  you  think  she  's  put  her 
address  and  her  *  at  home  '  days  on  the  receipt.  Look 
hard  and  maybe  you  '11  see  'em." 

The  instinct  of  youthful  retaliation  to  say  he  knew  her 
address  already  stirred  Randolph,  but  he  shut  his  lips  in 
time,  and  moved  away.  His  desk  neighbor  informed  him 
that  the  young  lady  came  there  once  a  month  and  drew  a 
hundred  dollars  from  some  deposit  to  her  credit,  but  that 
was  all  they  knew.  Her  name  was  Caroline  Avondale, 


24  TKENT'S  TRUST 

yet  there  was  no  one  of  that  name  in  the  San  Francisco 
Directory. 

But  Randolph's  romantic  curiosity  would  not  allow  the 
incident  to  rest  there.  A  favorable  impression  he  had  pro 
duced  on  Mr.  Dingwall  enabled  him  to  learn  more,  and 
precipitated  what  seemed  to  him  a  singular  discovery. 
"You  will  find,"  said  the  deputy  manager,  "the  statement 
of  the  first  deposit  to  Miss  Avondale's  credit  in  letters  in 
your  own  department.  The  account  was  opened  two  years 
ago  through  a  South  American  banker.  But  I  am  afraid  it 
will  not  satisfy  your  curiosity."  Nevertheless,  Randolph 
remained  after  office  hours  and  spent  some  time  in  examin 
ing  the  correspondence  of  two  years  ago.  He  was  rewarded 
at  last  by  a  banker's  letter  from  Callao  advising  the  remit 
tance  of  one  thousand  dollars  to  the  credit  of  Miss  Avon- 
dale  of  San  Francisco.  The  letter  was  written  in  Spanish, 
of  which  Randolph  had  a  fair  knowledge,  but  it  was  made 
plainer  by  a  space  having  been  left  in  the  formal  letter  for 
the  English  name,  which  was  written  in  another  hand,  to 
gether  with  a  copy  of  Miss  Avondale's  signature  for  iden 
tification —  the  usual  proceeding  in  those  early  days,  when 
personal  identification  was  difficult  to  travelers,  emigrants, 
and  visitors  in  a  land  of  strangers. 

But  here  he  was  struck  by  a  singular  resemblance  which 
he  at  first  put  down  to  mere  coincidence  of  names.  The 
child's  photograph  which  he  had  found  in  the  portmanteau 
was  taken  at  Callao.  That  was  a  mere  coincidence,  but  it 
suggested  to  his  mind  a  more  singular  one  —  that  the  hand 
writing  of  the  address  was,  in  some  odd  fashion,  familiar 
to  him.  That  night  when  he  went  home  he  opened  the 
portmanteau  and  took  from  the  purse  the  scrap  of  paper 
with  the  written  address  of  the  bank,  and  on  comparing  it 
with  the  banker's  letter  the  next  day  he  was  startled  to 
find  that  the  handwriting  of  the  bank's  address  and  that 
in  which  the  girl's  name  was  'introduced  in  the  banker's 


TRENT'S  TRUST  25 

letter  were  apparently  the  same.  The  letters  in  the  words 
"Caroline"  and  "California"  appeared  as  if  formed  by  the 
same  hand.  How  this  might  have  struck  a  chirographical 
expert  he  did  not  know.  He  could  not  consult  the  paying 
teller,  who  was  supposed  to  be  familiar  with  signatures, 
without  exposing  his  secret  and  himself  to  ridicule.  And, 
after  all,  what  did  it  prove  1  Nothing.  Even  if  this  girl 
were  cognizant  of  the  man  who  supplied  her  address  to  the 
Callao  banker  two  years  ago,  and  he  was  really  the  missing 
owner  of  the  portmanteau,  would  she  know  where  he  was 
now?  It  might  make  an  opening  for  conversation  if  he 
ever  met  her  familiarly,  but  nothing  more.  Yet  I  am 
afraid  another  idea  occasionally  took  possession  of  Ran 
dolph's  romantic  fancy.  It  was  pleasant  to  think  that  the 
patron  of  his  own  fortunes  might  be  in  some  mysterious 
way  the  custodian  of  hers.  The  money  was  placed  to  her 
credit  —  a  liberal  sum  for  a  girl  so  young.  The  large 
house  in  which  she  lived  was  sufficient  to  prove  to  the  op 
timistic  Randolph  that  this  income  was  something  personal 
and  distinct  from  her  family.  That  his  unknown  bene 
factor  was  in  the  habit  of  mysteriously  rewarding  deserving 
merit  after  the  fashion  of  a  marine  fairy  godmother,  I  fear 
did  not  strike  him  as  being  ridiculous. 

But  an  unfortunate  query  in  that  direction,  addressed  to 
a  cynical  fellow  clerk,  who  had  the  exhaustive  experience 
with  the  immature  mustaches  of  twenty- three,  elicited  a 
reply  which  shocked  him.  To  his  indignant  protest  the 
young  man  continued :  — 

"Look  here;  a  girl  like  that  who  draws  money  regularly 
from  some  man  who  doesn't  show  up  by  name,  who  comes 
for  it  herself,  and  has  n't  any  address,  and  calls  herself 
'  Avondale  '  —  only  an  innocent  from  Dutch  Mat,  like  you, 
would  swallow." 

"Impossible,"  said  Randolph  indignantly.  "Anybody 
could  see  she  's  a  lady  by  her  dress  and  bearing." 


26  TRENT'S  TRUST 

"Dress  and  bearing!"  echoed  the  clerk,  with  the  deri 
sion  of  blase  youth.  "If  that's  your  test,  you  ought  to 
see  Florry ." 

But  here  one  may  safely  leave  the  young  gentleman  as 
abruptly  as  Randolph  did.  Yet  a  drop  of  this  corrosive 
criticism  irritated  his  sensitiveness,  and  it  was  not  until  he 
recalled  his  last  meeting  with  her  and  her  innocent  escort 
that  he  was  himself  again.  Fortunately,  he  did  not  relate 
it  to  the  critic,  who  would  in  all  probability  have  added  a 
precocious  motherhood  to  the  young  lady's  possible  qualities. 

He  could  now  only  look  forward  to  her  reappearance  at 
the  bank,  and  here  he  was  destined  to  a  more  serious  dis 
appointment.  For  when  she  made  her  customary  appear 
ance  at  the  counter,  he  noticed  a  certain  businesslike  grav 
ity  in  the  paying  teller's  reception  of  her,  and  that  he  was 
consulting  a  small  register  before  him  instead  of  handing 
her  the  usual  receipt  form.  "Perhaps  you  are  unaware, 
Miss  Avondale,  that  your  account  is  overdrawn,"  Randolph 
distinctly  heard  him  say,  although  in  a  politely  lowered 
voice. 

The  young  girl  stopped  in  taking  off  her  glove ;  her  deli 
cate  face  expressed  her  wonder,  and  paled  slightly ;  she  cast 
a  quick  and  apparently  involuntary  glance  in  the  direction 
of  Randolph,  but  said  quietly,  — 

"I  don't  think  I  understand." 

"I  thought  you  did  not  —  ladies  so  seldom  do,"  contin 
ued  the  paying  teller  suavely.  "But  there  are  no  funds 
to  your  credit.  Has  not  your  banker  or  correspondent 
advised  you  ?  " 

The  girl  evidently  did  not  comprehend.  "I  have  no 
correspondent  or  banker,"  she  said.  "I  mean  —  I  have 
heard  nothing." 

"The  original  credit  was  opened  from  Callao,"  continued 
the  official,  "but  since  then  it  has  been  added  to  by  drafts 
from  Melbourne.  There  may  be  one  nearly  due  now." 


TRENT'S  TRUST  27 

The  young  girl  seemed  scarcely  to  comprehend,  yet  her 
face  remained  pale  and  thoughtful.  It  was  not  until  the 
paying  teller  resumed  with  suggestive  politeness  that  she 
roused  herself:  "If  you  would  like  to  see  the  president, 
he  might  oblige  you  until  you  hear  from  your  friends.  Of 
course,  my  duty  is  simply  to  "  — 

"I  don't  think  I  require  you  to  exceed  it,"  returned  the 
young  girl  quietly,  "or  that  I  wish  to  see  the  president." 
Her  delicate  little  face  was  quite  set  with  resolution  and  a 
mature  dignity,  albeit  it  was  still  pale,  as  she  drew  away 
from  the  counter. 

"If  you  would  leave  your  address,"  continued  the  offi 
cial  with  persistent  politeness,  "we  could  advise  you  of 
any  later  deposit  to  your  credit." 

"It  is  hardly  necessary,"  returned  the  young  lady.  "I 
should  learn  it  myself,  and  call  again.  Thank  you.  Good- 
morning.  "  And  settling  her  veil  over  her  face,  she  quietly 
passed  out. 

The  pain  and  indignation  with  which  Kandolph  over 
heard  this  colloquy  he  could  with  the  greatest  difficulty 
conceal.  For  one  wild  moment  he  had  thought  of  calling 
her  back  while  he  made  a  personal  appeal  to  Revelstoke; 
but  the  conviction  borne  in  upon  him  by  her  resolute  bear 
ing  that  she  would  refuse  it,  and  he  would  only  lay  himself 
open  to  another  rebuff,  held  him  to  his  seat.  Yet  he  could 
not  entirely  repress  his  youthful  indignation. 

"Where  I  come  from,"  he  said  in  an  audible  voice  to  his 
neighbor,  "a  young  lady  like  that  would  have  been  spared 
this  public  disappointment.  A  dozen  men  would  have 
made  up  that  sum  and  let  her  go  without  knowing  any 
thing  about  her  account  being  overdrawn. "  And  he  really 
believed  it. 

"Nice,  comf'able  way  of  doing  banking  business  in 
Dutch  Flat,"  returned  the  cynic.  "And  I  suppose  you  'd 
have  kept  it  up  every  month?  Rather  a  tall  price  to  pay 


28  TRENT'S  TRUST 

for  looking  at  a  pretty  girl  once  a  month!  But  I  suppose 
they  're  scarcer  up  there  than  here.  All  the  same,  it  ain't 
too  late  now.  Start  up  your  subscription  right  here,  sonny, 
and  we  '11  all  ante  up." 

But  Randolph,  who  seldom  followed  his  heroics  to  their 
ultimate  prosaic  conclusions,  regretted  he  had  spoken,  al 
though  still  unconvinced.  Happily  for  his  temper,  he  did 
not  hear  the  comment  of  the  two  tellers. 

"Won't  see  her  again,  old  boy,"  said  one. 

"I  reckon  not,"  returned  the  other,  "now  that  she's 
been  chucked  by  her  fancy  man  —  until  she  gets  another. 
But  cheer  up;  a  girl  like  that  won't  want  friends  long." 

It  is  not  probable  that  either  of  these  young  gentlemen 
believed  what  they  said,  or  would  have  been  personally 
disrespectful  or  uncivil  to  any  woman;  they  were  fairly 
decent  young  fellows,  but  the  rigors  of  business  demanded 
this  appearance  of  worldly  wisdom  between  themselves. 
Meantime,  for  a  week  after,  Randolph  indulged  in  wild 
fancies  of  taking  his  benefactor's  capital  of  seventy  dollars, 
adding  thirty  to  it  from  his  own  hard-earned  savings,  buy 
ing  a  draft  with  it  from  the  bank  for  one  hundred  dollars, 
and  in  some  mysterious  way  getting  it  to  Miss  Avondale  as 
the  delayed  remittance. 

The  brief  wet  winter  was  nearly  spent;  the  long  dry 
season  was  due,  although  there  was  still  the  rare  beauty  of 
cloud  scenery  in  the  steel-blue  sky,  and  the  sudden  return 
of  quick  but  transient  showers.  It  was  on  a  Sunday  of 
weather  like  this  that  the  nature-loving  Randolph  extended 
his  usual  holiday  excursion  as  far  as  Contra  Costa  by  the 
steamer  after  his  dutiful  round  of  the  wharves  and  ship 
ping.  It  was  with  a  gayety  born  equally  of  his  youth  and 
the  weather  that  he  overcame  his  constitutional  shyness, 
and  not  only  mingled  without  restraint  among  the  pleasure- 
seekers  that  thronged  the  crowded  boat,  but,  in  the  con 
sciousness  of  his  good  looks  and  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  even 


TRENT'S  TRUST  29 

penetrated  into  the  aristocratic  seclusion  of  the  "ladies' 
cabin  "  —  sacred  to  the  fair  sex  and  their  attendant  swains 
or  chaperones. 

But  he  found  every  seat  occupied,  and  was  turning  away, 
when  he  suddenly  recognized  Miss  Avondale  sitting  beside 
her  little  escort.  She  appeared,  however,  in  a  somewhat 
constrained  attitude,  sustaining  with  one  hand  the  boy, 
who  had  clambered  on  the  seat.  He  was  looking  out  of 
the  cabin  window,  which  she  was  also  trying  to  do,  with 
greater  difficulty  on  account  of  her  position.  He  could  see 
her  profile  presented  with  such  marked  persistency  that  he 
was  satisfied  she  had  seen  him  and  was  avoiding  him.  He 
turned  and  left  the  cabin. 

Yet,  once  on  the  deck  again,  he  repented  his  haste. 
Perhaps  she  had  not  actually  recognized  him;  perhaps  she 
wished  to  avoid  him  only  because  she  was  in  plainer  clothes 
—  a  circumstance  that,  with  his  knowledge  of  her  changed 
fortunes,  struck  him  to  the  heart.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
even  as  a  humble  employee  of  the  bank  he  was  in  some 
way  responsible  for  it,  and  wondered  if  she  associated  him 
with  her  humiliation.  He  longed  to  speak  with  her  and 
assure  her  of  his  sympathy,  and  yet  he  was  equally  conscious 
that  she  would  reject  it. 

When  the  boat  reached  the  Alameda  wharf  she  slipped 
away  with  the  other  passengers.  He  wandered  about  the 
hotel  garden  and  the  main  street  in  the  hope  of  meeting 
her  again,  although  he  was  instinctively  conscious  that  she 
would  not  follow  the  lines  of  the  usual  Sunday  sight-seers, 
but  had  her  own  destination.  He  penetrated  the  depths 
of  the  Alameda,  and  lost  himself  among  its  low,  trailing 
oaks,  to  no  purpose.  The  hope  of  the  morning  had  died 
within  him ;  the  fire  of  adventure  was  quenched,  and  when 
the  clouds  gathered  with  a  rising  wind  he  felt  that  the 
promise  of  that  day  was  gone.  He  turned  to  go  back  to 
the  ferry,  but  on  consulting  his  watch  he  found  that  he 


30  TRENT'S  TRUST 

had  already  lost  so  much  time  in  his  devious  wanderings 
that  he  must  run  to  catch  the  last  boat.  The  few  drops 
that  spattered  through  the  trees  presently  increased  to  a 
shower;  he  put  up  his  umbrella  without  lessening  his 
speed,  and  finally  dashed  into  the  main  street  as  the  last 
bell  was  ringing.  But  at  the  same  moment  a  slight,  grace 
ful  figure  slipped  out  of  the  woods  just  ahead  of  him,  with 
no  other  protection  from  the  pelting  storm  than  a  handker 
chief  tied  over  her  hat,  and  ran  as  swiftly  toward  the 
wharf.  It  needed  only  one  glance  for  Randolph  to  recog 
nize  Miss  Avondale.  The  moment  had  come,  the  opportu 
nity  was  here,  and  the  next  instant  he  was  panting  at  her 
side,  with  the  umbrella  over  her  head. 

The  girl  lifted  her  head  quickly,  gave  a  swift  look  of 
recognition,  a  brief  smile  of  gratitude,  and  continued  her 
pace.  She  had  not  taken  his  arm,  but  had  grasped  the 
handle  of  the  umbrella,  which  linked  them  together.  Not 
a  word  was  spoken.  Two  people  cannot  be  conversational 
or  sentimental  flying  at  the  top  of  their  speed  beneath  a 
single  umbrella,  with  a  crowd  of  impatient  passengers 
watching  and  waiting  for  them.  And  I  grieve  to  say  that, 
being  a  happy  American  crowd,  there  was  some  irreverent 
humor.  "Go  it,  sis!  He  's  gainin'  on  you!  "  "Keep  it 
up!"  "Steady,  sonny!  Don't  prance!"  "No  fancy 
licks !  You  were  nearly  over  the  traces  that  time ! " 
"Keep  up  to  the  pole!"  (i.  e.  the  umbrella).  "Don't 
crowd  her  off  the  track!  Just  swing  on  together;  you'll 
do  it." 

Randolph  had  glanced  quickly  at  his  companion.  She 
was  laughing,  yet  looking  at  him  shyly  as  if  wondering 
how  he  was  taking  it.  The  paddle  wheels  were  beginning 
to  revolve.  Another  rush,  and  they  were  on  board  as  the 
plank  was  drawn  in. 

But  they  were  only  on  the  edge  of  a  packed  and  seething 
crowd.  Randolph  managed,  however,  to  force  a  way  for 


TRENT'S  TRUST  31 

her  to  an  angle  of  the  paddle  box,  where  they  were  compar 
atively  alone  although  still  exposed  to  the  rain.  She  re 
cognized  their  enforced  companionship  by  dropping  her 
grasp  of  the  umbrella,  which  she  had  hitherto  been  holding 
over  him  with  a  singular  kind  of  mature  superiority  very 
like  —  as  Randolph  felt  —  her  manner  to  the  boy. 

"  You  have  left  your  little  friend  ? "  he  said,  grasping  at 
the  idea  for  a  conversational  opening. 

"My  little  cousin?  Yes,"  she  said.  "I  left  him  with 
friends.  I  could  not  bear  to  make  him  run  any  risk  in 
this  weather.  But,"  she  hesitated  half  apologetically,  half 
mischievously,  "perhaps  I  hurried  you." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Randolph  quickly.  "This  is  the  last 
boat,  and  I  must  be  at  the  bank  to-morrow  morning  at 
nine." 

"And  I  must  be  at  the  shop  at  eight,"  she  said.  She 
did  not  speak  bitterly  or  pointedly,  nor  yet  with  the  entire 
familiarity  of  custom.  He  noticed  that  her  dress  was  in 
deed  plainer,  and  yet  she  seemed  quite  concerned  oyer  the 
water-soaked  state  of  that  cheap  thin  silk  pelerine  and 
merino  skirt.  A  big  lump  was  in  his  throat. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said  desperately,  yet  trying  to 
laugh,  "that  this  is  not  the  first  time  you  have  seen  me 
dripping  1 " 

"Yes,"  she  returned,  looking  at  him  interestedly;  "it 
was  outside  of  the  druggist's  in  Montgomery  Street,  about 
four  months  ago.  You  were  wetter  then  even  than  you 
are  now." 

"I  was  hungry,  friendless,  and  penniless,  Miss  Avon- 
dale."  He  had  spoken,  thus  abruptly  in  the  faint  hope 
that  the  revelation  might  equalize  their  present  condition ; 
but  somehow  his  confession,  now  that  it  was  uttered, 
seemed  exceedingly  weak  and  impotent.  Then  he  blun 
dered  in  a  different  direction.  "  Your  eyes  were  the  only 
kind  ones  I  had  seen  since  I  landed."  He  flushed  a  little, 


32  TRENT'S  TRUST 

feeling  himself  on  insecure  ground,  and  ended  desperately : 
"Why,  when  I  left  you,  I  thought  of  committing  suicide." 

"  Oh,  dear,  not  so  bad  as  that,  I  hope !  "  she  said  quickly, 
smiling  kindly,  yet  with  a  certain  air  of  mature  toleration, 
as  if  she  were  addressing  her  little  cousin.  "You  only 
fancied  it.  And  it  is  n't  very  complimentary  to  my  eyes 
if  their  kindness  drove  you  to  such  horrid  thoughts.  And 
then  what  happened  ?  "  she  pursued  smilingly. 

"I  had  a  job  to  carry  a  man's  bag,  and  it  got  me  a 
night's  lodging  and  a  meal,"  said  Randolph,  almost 
brusquely,  feeling  the  utter  collapse  of  his  story. 

"And  then?  "  she  said  encouragingly. 

"I  got  a  situation  at  the  bank." 

"When?" 

"The  next  day,"  faltered  Randolph,  expecting  to  hear 
her  laugh.  But  Miss  Avondale  heaved  the  faintest  sigh. 

"You  are  very  lucky,"  she  said. 

"Not  so  very,"  returned  Randolph  quickly,  "for  the 
next  time  you  saw  me  you  cut  me  dead." 

"I  believe  I  did,"  she  said  smilingly. 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  why  ?  " 

"Are  you  sure  you  won't  be  angry? " 

"I  may  be  pained,"  said  Randolph  prudently. 

"I  apologize  for  that  beforehand.  Well,  that  first  night 
I  saw  a  young  man  looking  very  anxious,  very  uncomfort 
able,  and  very  weak.  The  second  time  —  and  not  very 
long  after  —  I  saw  him  well  dressed,  lounging  like  any 
other  young  man  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  and  I  believed 
that  he  took  the  liberty  of  bowing  to  me  then  because  I 
had  once  looked  at  him  under  a  misapprehension." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Avondale !  " 

"Then  I  took  a  more  charitable  view,  and  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  first  night  he  had  been  drinking.  But, " 
she  added,  with  a  faint  smile  at  Randolph's  lugubrious  face, 
"I  apologize.  And  you  h'ave  had  your  revenge;  for  if/ 


TKENT'S  TRUST  33 

cut  you  on  account  of  your  smart  clothes,  you  have  tried 
to  do  me  a  kindness  on  account  of  my  plain  ones." 

"Oh,  Miss  Avondale,"  burst  out  Randolph,  "if  you  only 
knew  how  sorry  and  indignant  I  was  at  the  bank  —  when 
—  you  know  —  the  other  day  "  —  he  stammered.  "  I 
wanted  to  go  with  you  to  Mr.  Revelstoke,  you  know,  who 
had  been  so  generous  to  me,  and  I  know  he  would  have 
been  proud  to  befriend  you  until  you  heard  from  your 
friends. " 

"And  I  am  very  glad  you  did  nothing  so  foolish,"  said 
the  young  lady  seriously,  " or  "  —  with  a  smile  —  "I  should 
have  been  still  more  aggravating  to  you  when  we  met. 
The  bank  was  quite  right.  Nor  have  I  any  pathetic  story 
like  yours.  Some  years  ago  my  little  half-cousin  whom 
you  saw  lost  his  mother  and  was  put  in  my  charge  by  his 
father,  with  a  certain  sum  to  my  credit,  to  be  expended  for 
myself  and  the  child.  I  lived  with  an  uncle,  with  whom, 
for  some  family  reasons,  the  child's  father  was  not  on  good 
terms,  and  this  money  and  the  charge  of  the  child  were 
therefore  intrusted  entirely  to  me;  perhaps,  also,  because 
Bobby  and  I  were  fond  of  each  other  and  I  was  a  friend 
of  his  mother.  The  father  was  a  shipmaster,  always  away 
on  long  voyages,  and  has  been  home  but  once  in  the  three 
years  I  have  had  charge  of  his  son.  I  have  not  heard  from 
him  since.  He  is  a  good-hearted  man,  but  of  a  restless, 
roving  disposition,  with  no  domestic  tastes.  Why  he 
should  suddenly  cease  to  provide  for  my  little  cousin  —  if 
he  has  done  so  —  or  if  his  omission  means  only  some  tem 
porary  disaster  to  himself  or  his  fortunes,  I  do  not  know. 
My  anxiety  was  more  for  the  poor  boy's  sake  than  for  my 
self,  for  as  long  as  I  live  I  can  provide  for  him. "  She  said 
this  without  the  least  display  of  emotion,  and  with  the 
same  mature  air  of  also  repressing  any  emotion  on  the  part 
of  Randolph.  But  for  her  size  and  girlish  figure,  but  for 
the  dripping  tangles  of  her  hair  and  her  soft  eyes,  he  would 


34  TRENT'S  TRUST 

have  believed  he  was  talking  to  a  hard,  middle-aged 
matron. 

"  Then  you  —  he  —  has  no  friends  here  ?  "  asked  Ran 
dolph. 

"No.  We  are  all  from  Callao,  where  Bobby  was  born. 
My  uncle  was  a  merchant  there,  who  came  here  lately  to 
establish  an  agency.  We  lived  with  him  in  Sutter  Street 
—  where  you  remember  I  was  so  hateful  to  you, "  she  in 
terpolated,  with  a  mischievous  smile  —  "until  his  enter 
prise  failed  and  he  was  obliged  to  return;  but  /  stayed 
here  with  Bobby,  that  he  might  be  educated  in  his -father's 
own  tongue.  It  was  unfortunate,  perhaps,"  she  said,  with 
a  little  knitting  of  her  pretty  brows,  "  that  the  remittances 
ceased  and  uncle  left  about  the  same  time;  but,  like  you, 
I  was  lucky,  and  I  managed  to  get  a  place  in  the  Empo 
rium.  " 

"  The  Emporium I "  repeated  Randolph  in  surprise.  It 
was  a  popular  "magasin  of  fashion"  in  Montgomery 
Street.  To  connect  this  refined  girl  with  its  garish  display 
and  vulgar  attendants  seemed  impossible. 

"The  Emporium,"  reiterated  Miss  Avondale  simply. 
"You  see,  we  used  to  dress  a  good  deal  in  Callao  and  had 
the  Paris  fashions,  and  that  experience  was  of  great  service 
to  me.  I  am  now  at  the  head  of  what  they  call  the  *  man 
tle  department, '  if  you  please,  and  am  looked  up  to  as  an 
authority."  She  made  him  a  mischievous  bow,  which  had 
the  effect  of  causing  a  trickle  from  the  umbrella  to  fall 
across  his  budding  mustache,  and  another  down  her  own 
straight  little  nose  —  a  diversion  that  made  them  laugh  to 
gether,  although  Randolph  secretly  felt  that  the  young 
girl's  quiet  heroism  was  making  his  own  trials  appear  ridic 
ulous.  But  her  allusion  to  Callao  and  the  boy's  name  had 
again  excited  his  fancy  and  revived  his  romantic  dream  of 
their  common  benefactor.  As  soon  as  they  could  get  a 
more  perfect  shelter  and  furl  the  umbrella,  he  plunged  into 


TRENT'S   TRUST  35 

the  full  story  of  the  mysterious  portmanteau  and  its  missing 
owner,  with  the  strange  discovery  that  he  had  made  of  the 
similarity  of  the  two  handwritings.  The  young  lady  lis 
tened  intently,  eagerly,  checking  herself  with  what  might 
have  been  a  half  smile  at  his  enthusiasm. 

"I  remember  the  banker's  letter,  certainly,"  she  said, 
"and  Captain  Dornton  —  that  was  the  name  of  Bobby's 
father  —  asked  me  to  sign  my  name  in  the  body  of  it  where 
he  had  also  written  it  with  my  address.  But  the  likeness 
of  the  handwriting  to  your  slip  of  paper  may  be  only  a 
fancied  one.  Have  you  shown  it  to  any  one,"  she  said 
quickly  —  "I  mean,"  she  corrected  herself  as  quickly,  "any 
one  who  is  an  expert  ?  " 

"Not  the  two  together,"  said  Randolph,  explaining  how 
he  had  shown  the  paper  to  Mr.  Revelstoke. 

But  Miss  Avondale  had  recovered  herself,  and  laughed. 
"  That  that  bit  of  paper  should  have  been  the  means  of  getting 
you  a  situation  seems  to  me  the  more  wonderful  occurrence. 
Of  course  it  is  quite  a  coincidence  that  there  should  be  a 
child's  photograph  and  a  letter  signed  '  Bobby  '  in  the  port 
manteau.  But "  —  she  stopped  suddenly  and  fixed  her 
dark  eyes  on  his  —  "you  have  seen  Bobby.  Surely  you 
can  say  if  it  was  his  likeness  ? " 

Randolph  was  embarrassed.  The  fact  was  he  had  always 
been  so  absorbed  in  her  that  he  had  hardly  glanced  at  the 
child.  He  ventured  to  say  this,  and  added  a  little  awk 
wardly,  and  coloring,  that  he  had  seen  Bobby  only  twice. 

"And  you  still  have  this  remarkable  photograph  and 
letter  ?  "  she  said,  perhaps  a  little  too  carelessly. 

"  Yes.      Would  you  like  to  see  them  ?  " 

"Very  much,"  she  returned  quickly;  and  then  added, 
with  a  laugh,  "you  are  making  me  quite  curious." 

"If  you  would  allow  me  to  see  you  home,"  said  Ran 
dolph,  "  we  have  to  pass  the  street  where  my  room  is, 
and,"  he  added  timidly,  "I  could  show  them  to  you." 


36  TRENT'S  TRUST 

"Certainly,"  she  replied,  with  sublime  unconsciousness 
of  the  cause  of  his  hesitation;  "that  will  be  very  nice." 

Randolph  was  happy,  albeit  he  could  not  help  thinking 
that  she  was  treating  him  like  the  absent  Bobby. 

"It's  only  on  Commercial  Street,  just  above  Montgom 
ery,"  he  went  on.  "We  go  straight  up  from  the, wharf  "  — 
he  stopped  short  here,  for  the  bulk  of  a  bystander,  a 
roughly  clad  miner,  was  pressing  him  so  closely  that  he 
was  obliged  to  resist  indignantly  —  partly  from  discomfort, 
and  partly  from  a  sense  that  the  man  was  overhearing  him. 
The  stranger  muttered  a  kind  of  apology,  arid  moved 
away. 

"He  seems  to  be  perpetually  in  your  way,"  said  Miss 
Avondale,  smiling.  "  He  was  right  behind  you,  and  you 
nearly  trod  on  his  toes,  when  you  bolted  out  of  the  cabin 
this  morning." 

"Ah,  then  you  did  see  me!"  said  Randolph,  forgetting 
all  else  in  his  delight  at  the  admission. 

But  Miss  Avondale  was  not  disconcerted.  "Thanks  to 
your  collision,  I  saw  you  both." 

It  was  still  raining  when  they  disembarked  at  the  wharf, 
a  little  behind  the  other  passengers,  who  had  crowded  on 
the  bow  of  the  steamboat.  It  was  only  a  block  or  two 
beyond  the  place  where  Randolph  had  landed  that  eventful 
night.  He  had  to  pass  it  now;  but  with  Miss  Avondale 
clinging  to  his  arm,  with  what  different  feelings!  The 
rain  still  fell,  the  day  was  fading,  but  he  walked  in  an 
enchanted  dream,  of  which  the  prosaic  umbrella  was  the 
mystic  tent  and  magic  pavilion.  He  must  needs  even  stop 
at  the  corner  of  the  wharf,  and  show  her  the  exact  spot 
where  his  unknown  benefactor  appeared. 

"Coming  out  of  the  shadow  like  that  man  there,"  she 
added  brightly,  pointing  to  a  figure  just  emerging  from  the 
obscurity  of  an  overhanging  warehouse.  "Why,  it's  your 
friend  the  miner !  " 


TRENT'S  TRUST  37 

Kandolph  looked.  It  was  indeed  the  same  man,  who 
had  probably  reached  the  wharf  by  a  cross  street. 

"Let  us  go  on,  do!"  said  Miss  Avondale,  suddenly 
tightening  her  hold  of  Randolph's  arm  in  some  instinctive 
feminine  alarm.  "I  don't  like  this  place." 

But  Kandolph,  with  the  young  girl's  arm  clinging  to 
his,  felt  supremely  daring.  Indeed,  I  fear  he  was  some 
what  disappointed  when  the  stranger  peacefully  turned  into 
the  junk  shop  at  the  corner  and  left  them  to  pursue  their 
way. 

They  at  last  stopped  before  some  business  offices  on  a 
central  thoroughfare,  where  Randolph  had  a  room  on  the 
third  story.  When  they  had  climbed  the  flight  of  stairs 
he  unlocked  a  door  and  disclosed  a  good-sized  apartment 
which  had  been  intended  for  an  office,  but  which  was  now 
neatly  furnished  as  a  study  and  bedroom.  Miss  Avondale 
smiled  at  the  singular  combination. 

"I  should  fancy,"  she  said,  "you  would  .never  feel  as 
if  you  had  quite  left  the  bank  behind  you."  Yet,  \vith 
her  air  of  protection  and  mature  experience,  she  at  once 
began  to  move  one  or  two  articles  of  furniture  into  a  more 
tasteful  position,  while  Kandolph,  nevertheless  a  little 
embarrassed  at  his  audacity  in  asking  this  goddess  into 
his  humble  abode,  hurriedly  unlocked  a  closet,  brought 
out  the  portmanteau,  and  handed  her  the  letter  and  photo 
graph. 

Woman-like,  Miss  Avondale  looked  at  the  picture  first. 
If  she  experienced  any  surprise,  she  repressed  it.  "It  is 
like  Bobby,"  she  said  meditatively,  "but  he  was  stouter 
then;  and  he's  changed  sadly  since  he  has  been  in  this 
climate.  I  don't  wonder  you  didn't  recognize  him.  His 
father  may  have  had  it  taken  some  day  when  they  were 
alone  together.  I  didn't  know  of  it,  though  I  know  the 
photographer."  She  then  looked  at  the  letter,  knit  her 
pretty  brows,  and  with  an  abstracted  air  sat  down  on  the 


38  TRENT'S  TRUST 

edge  of  Randolph's  bed,  crossed  her  little  feet,  and  looked 
puzzled.  But  he  was  unable  to  detect  the  least  emotion. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  "the  handwriting  of  most  children 
who  are  learning  to  write  is  very  much  alike,  for  this  is  the 
stage  of  development  when  they  '  print. '  And  their  com 
position  is  the  same :  they  talk  only  of  things  that  interest 
all  children  —  pets,  toys,  and  their  games.  This  is  only 
any  child's  letter  to  any  father.  I  couldn't  really  say  it 
was  Bobby's.  As  to  the  photograph,  they  have  an  odd 
way  in  South  America  of  selling  photographs  of  anybody, 
principally  of  pretty  women,  by  the  packet,  to  any  one 
who  wants  them.  So  that  it  does  not  follow  that  the 
owner  of  this  photograph  had  any  personal  interest  in  it. 
Now,  as  to  your  mysterious  patron  himself,  can  you  de 
scribe  him  ? "  She  looked  at  Randolph  with  a  certain 
feline  intensity. 

He  became  embarrassed.  "You  know  I  only  saw  him 
once,  under  a  street  lamp  "  —  he  began. 

"And  I  have  only  seen  Captain  Dora  ton  —  if  it  were  he 
—  twice  in  three  years, "  she  said.  "  But  go  on. " 

Again  Randolph  was  unpleasantly  impressed  with  her 
cold,  dryly  practical  manner.  He  had  never  seen  his  bene 
factor  but  once,  but  he  could  not  speak  of  him  in  that  way. 

"I  think,"  he  went  on  hesitatingly,  "that  he  had  dark, 
pleasant  eyes,  a  thick  beard,  and  the  look  of  a  sailor." 

"  And  there  were  no  other  papers  in  the  portmanteau  ? " 
she  said,  with  the  same  intense  look. 

"None." 

"These  are  mere  coincidences,"  said  Miss  Avondale,  af 
ter  a  pause,  "and,  after  all,  they  are  not  as  strange  as  the 
alternative.  For  we  would  have  to  believe  that  Captain 
Dornton  arrived  here  —  where  he  knew  his  son  and  I  were 
living  —  without  a  word  of  warning,  came  ashore  for  the 
purpose  of  going  to  a  hotel  and  the  bank  also,  and  then 
unaccountably  changed  his  mind  and  disappeared." 


TRENT'S  TRUST  39 

The  thought  of  the  rotten  wharf,  his  own  escape,  and 
the  dead  body  were  all  in  Randolph's  mind;  but  his  rea 
soning  was  already  staggered  by  the  girl's  conclusions,  and 
he  felt  that  it  might  only  pain,  without  convincing  her. 
And  was  he  convinced  himself  ?  She  smiled  at  his  blank 
face  and  rose.  "Thank  you  all  the  same.  And  now  I 
must  go." 

Eandolph  rose  also.  "Would  you  like  to  take  the  pho 
tograph  and  letter  to  show  your  cousin  ?  " 

"Yes.  But  I  should  not  place  much  reliance  on  his 
memory."  Nevertheless,  she  took  up  the  photograph  and 
letter,  and  Randolph,  putting  the  portmanteau  back  in  the 
closet,  locked  it,  and  stood  ready  to  accompany  her. 

On  their  way  to  her  house  they  talked  of  other  things. 
Randolph  learned  something  of  her  life  in  Callao:  that  she 
was  an  orphan  like  himself,  and  had  been  brought  from 
the  Eastern  States  when  a  child  to  live  with  a  rich  uncle 
in  Callao  who  was  childless;  that  her  aunt  had  died  and 
her  uncle  had  married  again;  that  the  second  wife  had 
been  at  variance  with  his  family,  and  that  it  was  conse 
quently  some  relief  to  Miss  Avondale  to  be  independent  as 
the  guardian  of  Bobby,  whose  mother  was  a  sister  of  the 
first  wife;  that  her  uncle  had  objected  as  strongly  as  a 
brother-in-law  could  to  his  wife's  sister's  marriage  with 
Captain  Dornton  on  account  of  his  roving  life  and  unsettled 
habits,  and  that  consequently  there  would  be  little  sympa 
thy  for  her  or  for  Bobby  in  his  mysterious  disappearance. 
The  wind  blew  and  the  rain  fell  upon  these  confidences, 
yet  Randolph,  walking  again  under  that  umbrella  of  feli 
city,  parted  with  her  at  her  own  doorstep  all  too  soon, 
although  consoled  with  the  permission  to  come  and  see  her 
when  the  child  returned. 

He  went  back  to  his  room  a  very  hopeful,  foolish,  but 
happy  youth.  As  he  entered  he  seemed  to  feel  the  charm 
of  her  presence  again  in  the  humble  apartment  she  had 


40  TRENT'S  TRUST 

sanctified.  The  furniture  she  had  moved  with  her  own 
little  hands,  the  bed  on  which  she  had  sat  for  a  half  mo 
ment,  was  glorified  to  his  youthful  fancy.  And  even  that 
magic  portmanteau  which  had  brought  him  all  this  happi 
ness,  that,  too,  — but  he  gave  a  sudden  start.  The  closet 
door,  which  he  had  shut  as  he  went  out,  was  unlocked  and 
open,  the  portmanteau  —  his  "  trust "  —  gone ! 

Ill 

Randolph  Trent's  consternation  at  the  loss  of  the  port 
manteau  was  partly  superstitious.  For,  although  it  was  easy 
to  make  up  the  small  sum  taken,  and  the  papers  were  safe 
in  Miss  Avondale's  possession,  yet  this  displacement  of  the 
only  link  between  him  and  his  missing  benefactor,  and  the 
mystery  of  its  disappearance,  raised  all  his  old  doubts  and 
suspicions.  A  vague  uneasiness,  a  still  more  vague  sense 
of  some  remissness  on  his  own  part,  possessed  him. 

That  the  portmanteau  was  taken  from  his  room  during 
his  absence  with  Miss  Avondale  that  afternoon  was  evi 
dent.  The  door  had  been  opened  by  a  skeleton  key,  and 
as  the  building  was  deserted  on  Sunday,  there  had  been  no 
chance  of  interference  with  the  thief.  If  mere  booty  had 
been  his  object,  the  purse  would  have  satisfied  him  with 
out  his  burdening  himself  with  a  portmanteau  which  might 
be  identified.  Nothing  else  in  the  room  had  been  dis 
turbed.  The  thief  must  have  had  some  cognizance  of  its 
location,  and  have  kept  some  espionage  over  Randolph's 
movements  —  a  circumstance  which  added  to  the  mystery 
and  his  disquiet.  He  placed  a  description  of  his  loss  with 
the  police  authorities,  but  their  only  idea  of  recovering  it 
was  by  leaving  that  description  with  pawnbrokers  and  sec 
ond-hand  dealers,  a  proceeding  that  Randolph  instinctively 
felt  was  in  vain. 

A  singular  but  instinctive  reluctance  to  inform  Miss 
Avondale  of  his  loss  kept  him  from  calling  upon  her  for 


TRENT'S  TRUST  41 

the  first  few  days.  When  he  did,  she  seemed  concerned 
at  the  news,  although  far  from  participating  in  his  super 
stition  or  his  suspicions. 

"  You  still  have  the  letter  and  photograph  —  whatever 
they  may  be  worth  —  for  identification,"  she  said  dryly, 
"although  Bobby  cannot  remember  about  the  letter.  He 
thinks  he  went  once  with  his  father  to  a  photographer  and 
had  a  picture  taken,  but  he  cannot  remember  seeing  it  af 
terward."  She  was  holding  them  in  her  hand,  and  Ran 
dolph  almost  mechanically  took  them  from  her  and  put 
them  in  his  pocket.  He  would  not,  perhaps,  have  noticed 
his  own  brusqueness  had  she  not  looked  a  little  surprised, 
and,  he  thought,  annoyed.  "Are  you  quite  sure  you  won't 
lose  them  ?  "  she  said  gently.  "  Perhaps  I  had  better  keep 
them  for  you." 

"I  shall  seal  them  up  and  put  them  in  the  bank  safe," 
he  said  quickly.  He  could  not  tell  whether  his  sudden 
resolution  was  an  instinct  or  the  obstinacy  that  often  comes 
to  an  awkward  man.  "But,"  he  added,  coloring,  "I  shall 
always  regret  the  loss  of  the  portmanteau,  for  it  was  the 
means  of  bringing  us  together." 

"I  thought  it  was  the  umbrella,"  said  Miss  Avondale 
dryly. 

She  had  once  before  halted  him  on  the  perilous  edge  of 
sentiment  by  a  similar  cynicism,  but  this  time  it  cut  him 
deeply.  For  he  could  not  be  blind  to  the  fact  that  she 
treated  him  like  a  mere  boy,  and  in  dispelling  the  illusions 
of  his  instincts  and  beliefs  seemed  as  if  intent  upon  dispel 
ling  his  illusions  of  her  ;  and  in  her  half-smiling  abstraction 
he  read  only  the  well-bred  toleration  of  one  who  is  begin 
ning  to  be  bored.  He  made  his  excuses  early  and  went 
home.  Nevertheless,  although  regretting  he  had  not  left 
her  the  letter  and  photograph,  he  deposited  them  in  the 
bank  safe  the  next  day,  and  tried  to  feel  that  he  had  vin 
dicated  his  character  for  grown-up  wisdom. 


42  TRENT'S  TRUST 

Then,  in  his  conflicting  emotions,  he  punished  himself, 
after  the  fashion  of  youth,  by  avoiding  the  beloved  one's 
presence  for  several  days.  He  did  this  in  the  belief  that 
it  would  enable  him  to  make  up  his  mind  whether  to  re 
veal  his  real  feelings  to  her,  and  perhaps  there  was  the 
more  alluring  hope  that  his  absence  might  provoke  some 
manifestations  of  sentiment  on  her  part.  But  she  made  no 
sign.  And  then  came  a  reaction  in  his  feelings,  with  a 
heightened  sense  of  loyalty  to  his  benefactor.  For,  freed 
of  any  illusion  or  youthful  fancy  now,  a  purely  unselfish 
gratitude  to  the  unknown  man  filled  his  heart.  In  the 
lapse  of  his  sentiment  he  clung  the  more  closely  to  this  one 
honest  romance  of  his  life. 

One  afternoon,  at  the  close  of  business,  he  was  a  little 
astonished  to  receive  a  message  from  Mr.  Dingwall,  the 
deputy  manager,  that  he  wished  to  see  him  in  his  private 
office.  He  was  still  more  astonished  when  Mr.  Dingwall, 
after  offering  him  a  chair,  stood  up  with  his  hands  under 
his  coat  tails  before  the  fireplace,  and,  with  a  hesitancy  half 
reserved,  half  courteous,  but  wholly  English,  said,  — 

"I  —  er  —  would  be  glad,  Mr.  Trent,  if  you  would  — 
er  —  give  me  the  pleasure  of  your  company  at  dinner  to 
morrow.  " 

Randolph,  still  amazed,  stammered  his  acceptance. 

"There  will  be  —  er  —  a  young  lady  in  whom  you  were 
—  er  —  interested  some  time  ago.  Er  —  Miss  Avondale. " 

Randolph,  feeling  he  was  coloring,  and  uncertain  whether 
he  should  speak  of  having  met  her  since,  contented  himself 
with  expressing  his  delight. 

"In  fact,"  continued  Mr.  Dingwall,  clearing  his  throat 
as  if  he  were  also  clearing  his  conscience  of  a  tremendous 
secret,  "she  —  er  —  mentioned  your  name.  There  is  Sir 
William  Dornton  coming  also.  Sir  William  has  recently 
succeeded  his  elder  brother,  who  —  er  —  it  seems,  was  the 
gentleman  you  were  inquiring  about  when  you^  first  came 


TRENT'S  TRUST  43 

here,  and  who,  it  is  now  ascertained,  was  drowned  in  the 
bay  a  few  months  ago.  In  fact  —  er  —  it  is  probable  that 
you  were  the  last  one  who  saw  him  alive.  I  thought  I 
would  tell  you,"  continued  Mr.  Dingwall,  settling  his  chin 
more  comfortably  in  his  checked  cravat,  "  in  case  Sir  Wil 
liam  should  speak  of  him  to  you." 

Eandolph  was  staggered.  The  abrupt  revelation  of  his 
benefactor's  name  and  fate,  casually  coupled  with  an  invi 
tation  to  dinner,  shocked  and  confounded  him.  Perhaps 
Mr.  Dingwall  noticed  it  and  misunderstood  the  cause,  for 
he  added  in  parenthetical  explanation:  "Yes,  the  man 
whose  portmanteau  you  took  charge  of  is  dead;  but  you 
did  your  duty,  Mr.  Trent,  in  the  matter,  although  the  re 
covery  of  the  portmanteau  was  unessential  to  the  case." 

"Dead,"  repeated  Eandolph,  scarcely  heeding  him. 
"  But  is  it  true  ?  Are  they  sure  1 " 

Mr.  Dingwall  elevated  his  eyebrows.  "The  large  pro 
perty  at  stake  of  course  rendered  the  most  satisfactory 
proofs  of  it  necessary.  His  father  had  died  only  a  month 
previous,  and  of  course  they  were  seeking  the  presumptive 
heir,  the  so-called  *  Captain  John  Dornton  '  —  your  man  — 
when  they  made  the  discovery  of  his  death." 

Kandolph  thought  of  the  strange  body  at  the  wharf,  of 
the  coroner's  vague  verdict,  and  was  unconvinced.  "But," 
he  said  impulsively,  "there  was  a  child."  He  checked 
himself  as  he  remembered  this  was  one  of  Miss  Avondale's 
confidences  to  him. 

"  Ah  —  Miss  Avondale  has  spoken  of  a  child  1 "  said 
Mr.  Dingwall  dryly. 

"I  saw  her  with  one  which  she  said  was  Captain  Dorn 
ton 's,  which  had  been  left  in  her  care  after  the  death  of 
his  wife,"  said  Kandolph  in  hurried  explanation. 

"John  Dornton  had  no  wife,"  said  Mr.  Dingwall  se 
verely.  "The  boy  is  a  natural  son.  Captain  John  lived 
a  wild,  rough,  and  —  er  —  an  eccentric  life. " 


44  TRENT'S  TRUST 

"I  thought  —  I  understood  from  Miss  Avondale  that  he 
was  married,"  stammered  the  young  man. 

"In  your  rather  slight  acquaintance  with  that  young 
lady  I  should  imagine  she  would  have  had  some  delicacy 
in  telling  you  otherwise,"  returned  Mr.  Dingwall  primly. 

Randolph  felt  the  truth  of  this,  and  was  momentarily 
embarrassed.  Yet  he  lingered. 

"  Has  Miss  Avondale  known  of  this  discovery  long  ? " 
he  asked. 

"About  two  weeks,  I  should  say,"  returned  Mr.  Ding- 
wall.  "She  was  of  some  service  to  Sir  William  in  getting 
up  certain  proofs  he  required." 

It  was  three  weeks  since  she  had  seen  Randolph,  yet  it 
would  have  been  easy  for  her  to  communicate  the  news  to 
him.  In  these  three  weeks  his  romance  of  their  common 
interest  in  his  benefactor  —  even  his  own  dream  of  ever 
seeing  him  again  —  had  been  utterly  dispelled. 

It  was  in  no  social  humor  that  he  reached  Dingwall's 
house  the  next  evening.  Yet  he  knew  the  difficulty  of 
taking  an  aggressive  attitude  toward  his  previous  idol  or 
of  inviting  a  full  explanation  from  her  then. 

The  guests,  with  the  exception  of  himself  and  Miss 
Avondale,  were  all  English.  She,  self-possessed  and  charm 
ing  in  evening  dress,  nodded  to  him  with  her  usual  mature 
patronage,  but  did  not  evince  the  least  desire  to  seek  him 
for  any  confidential  aside.  He  noticed  the  undoubted  re 
semblance  of  Sir  William  Dornton  to  his  missing  benefactor, 
and  yet  it  produced  a  singular  repulsion  in  him,  rather  than 
any  sympathetic  predilection.  At  table  he  found  that  Miss 
Avondale  was  separated  from  him,  being  seated  beside  the 
distinguished  guest,  while  he  was  placed  next  to  the  young 
lady  he  had  taken  down  —  a  Miss  Eversleigh,  the  cousin  of 
Sir  William.  She  was  tall,  and  Randolph's  first  impres 
sion  of  her  was  that  she  was  stiff  and  constrained  —  an  im 
pression  he  quickly  corrected  at  the  sound  of  he^  voice,  her 


TRENT'S  TRUST  45 

frank  ingenuousness,  and  her  unmistakable  youth.  In  the 
habit  of  being  crushed  by  Miss  Avondale's  unrelenting  su 
periority,  he  found  himself  apparently  growing  up  beside 
this  tall  English  girl,  who  had  the  naivete  of  a  child.  After 
a  few  commonplaces  she  suddenly  turned  her  gray  eyes  on 
his,  and  said,  — 

"Didn't  you  like  Jack?  I  hope  you  did.  Oh,  say  you 
did  — do!" 

"  You  mean  Captain  John  Dornton  1 "  said  Randolph,  a 
little  confused. 

"  Yes,  of  course ;  his  brother  "  —  glancing  toward  Sir 
William.  "We  always  called  him  Jack,  though  I  was  ever 
so  little  when  he  went  away.  No  one  thought  of  calling 
him  anything  else  but  Jack.  Say  you  liked  him !  " 

" I  certainly  did,"  returned  Randolph  impulsively.  Then 
checking  himself,  he  added,  "I  only  saw  him  once,  but  I 
liked  his  face  and  manner  —  and  —  he  was  very  kind  to  me. " 

"Of  course  he  was,"  said  the  young  girl  quickly.  "That 
was  only  like  him,  and  yet "  —  lowering  her  voice  slightly 
—  "  would  you  believe  that  they  all  say  he  was  wild  and 
wicked  and  dissipated  1  And  why  ?  Fancy !  Just  be 
cause  he  did  n't  care  to  stay  at  home  and  shoot  and  hunt 
and  race  and  make  debts,  as  heirs  usually  do.  No,  he 
wanted  to  see  the  world  and  do  something  for  himself. 
Why,  when  he  was  quite  young,  he  could  manage  a  boat 
like  any  sailor.  Dornton  Hall,  their  place,  is  on  the  coast, 
you  know,  and  they  say  that,  just  for  adventure's  sake, 
after  he  went  away,  he  shipped  as  first  mate  somewhere  over 
here  on  the  Pacific,  and  made  two  or  three  voyages.  You 
know  —  don't  you?  —  and  how  every  one  was  shocked  at 
such  conduct  in  the  heir." 

Her  face  was  so  girlishly  animated,  with  such  sparkle  of 
eye  and  responsive  color,  that  he  could  hardly  reconcile  it 
with  her  first  restraint  or  with  his  accepted  traditions  of  her 
unemotional  race,  or,  indeed,  with  her  relationship  to  the 


46  TRENT'S  TRUST 

principal  guest.  His  latent  feeling  of  gratitude  to  the  dead 
man  warmed  under  the  young  girl's  voice. 

"It 's  so  dreadful  to  think  of  him  as  drowned,  you  know, 
though  even  that  they  put  against  him,"  she  went  on  hur 
riedly,  "for  they  say  he  was  probably  drowned  in  some 
drunken  fit  —  fell  through  the  wharf  or  something  shocking 
and  awful  —  worse  than  suicide.  But "  —  she  turned  her 
frank  young  eyes  upon  him  again  —  "  you  saw  him  on  the 
wharf  that  night,  and  you  could  tell  how  he  looked." 

"He  was  as  sober  as  I  was,"  returned  Randolph  indig 
nantly,  as  he  recalled  the  incident  of  the  flask  and  the  dead 
man's  caution.  From  recalling  it  to  repeating  it  followed 
naturally,  and  he  presently  related  the  whole  story  of  his 
meeting  with  Captain  Dornton  to  the  brightly  interested 
eyes  beside  him.  When  he  had  finished,  she  leaned  to 
ward  him  in  girlish  confidence,  and  said :  — 

"Yes;  but  even  that  they  tell  to  show  how  intoxicated 
he  must  have  been  to  have  given  up  his  portmanteau  to  an 
utter  stranger  like  you."  She  stopped,  colored,  and  yet, 
reflecting  his  own  half  smile,  she  added :  "  You  know  what 
I  mean.  For  they  all  agree  how  nice  it  was  of  you  not  to 
take  any  advantage  of  his  condition,  and  Dingwall  said  your 
honesty  and  faithfulness  struck  Revelstoke  so  much  that  he 
made  a  place  for  you  at  the  bank.  Now  /  think,"  she 
continued,  with  delightful  naivete,  "it  was  a  proof  of  poor 
Jack's  being  perfectly  sober,  that  he  knew  whom  he  was 
trusting,  and  saw  just  what  you  were,  at  once.  There! 
But  I  suppose  you  must  not  talk  to  me  any  longer,  but 
must  make  yourself  agreeable  to  some  one  else.  But  it 
was  very  nice  of  you  to  tell  me  all  this.  I  wish  you  knew 
my  guardian.  You  'd  like  him.  Do  you  ever  go  to  Eng 
land  1  Do  come  and  see  us. " 

These  confidences  had  not  been  observed  by  the  others, 
and  Miss  Avondale  appeared  to  confine  her  attentions  to 
Sir  William,  who  seemed  to  be  equally  absorbed,  except 


TRENT'S  TRUST  47 

that  once  he  lifted  his  eyes  toward  Randolph,  as  if  in 
answer  to  some  remark  from  her.  It  struck  Randolph  that 
he  was  the  subject  of  their  conversation,  and  this  did  not 
tend  to  allay  the  irritation  of  a  mind  already  wounded  by 
the  contrast  of  her  lack  of  sympathy  for  the  dead  man  who 
had  befriended  and  trusted  her  to  the  simple  faith  of  the 
girl  beside  him,  who  was  still  loyal  to  a  mere  childish 
recollection. 

After  the  ladies  had  rustled  away,  Sir  William  moved 
his  seat  beside  Randolph.  His  manner  seemed  to  combine 
Mr.  Dingwall's  restraint  with  a  certain  assumption  of  the 
man  of  the  world,  more  notable  for  its  frankness  than  its 
tactfulness. 

"Sad  business  this  of  my  brother's,  eh,"  he  said,  light 
ing  a  cigar;  "any  way  you  take  it,  eh?  You  saw  him  last, 
eh  ? "  The  interrogating  word,  however,  seemed  to  be 
only  an  exclamation  of  habit,  for  he  seldom  waited  for  an 
answer. 

"I  really  don't  know,"  said  Randolph,  "as  I  saw  him 
only  once>  and  he  left  me  on  the  wharf.  I  know  no  more 
where  he  went  to  then  than  where  he  came  from  before. 
Of  course  you  must  know  all  the  rest,  and  how  he  came  to 
be  drowned." 

"Yes;  it  really  did  not  matter  much.  The  whole  ques 
tion  was  identification  and  proof  of  death,  you  know. 
Beastly  job,  eh?" 

"  Was  that  his  body  you  were  helping  to  get  ashore  at 
the  wharf  one  Sunday  ? "  asked  Randolph  bluntly,  now 
fully  recognizing  the  likeness  that  had  puzzled  him  in  Sir 
William.  "I  didn't  see  any  resemblance." 

"Precious  few  would.  I  didn't  —  though  it's  true  I 
hadn't  seen  him  for  eight  years.  Poor  old  chap  been 
knocked  about  so  he  hadn't  a  feature  left,  eh?  But  his 
shipmate  knew  him,  and  there  were  his  traps  on  the  ship." 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  Randolph  heard  the  grim  and 


48  TRENT'S  TRUST 

sordid  details  of  John  Dornton's  mysterious  disappearance. 
He  had  arrived  the  morning  before  that  eventful  day  on  an 
Australian  bark  as  the  principal  passenger.  The  vessel  it 
self  had  an  evil  repute,  and  was  believed  to  have  slipped 
from  the  hands  of  the  police  at  Melbourne.  John  Dornton 
had  evidently  amassed  a  considerable  fortune  in  Australia, 
although  an  examination  of  his  papers  and  effects  showed  it 
to  be  in  drafts  and  letters  of  credit  and  shares,  and  that 
he  had  no  ready  money  —  a  fact  borne  out  by  the  testi 
mony  of  his  shipmates.  The  night  he  arrived  was  spent 
in  an  orgy  on  board  ship,  which  he  did  not  leave  until  the 
early  evening  of  the  next  day,  although,  after  his  erratic 
fashion,  he  had  ordered  a  room  at  a  hotel.  That  evening 
he  took  ashore  a  portmanteau,  evidently  intending  to  pass 
the  night  at  his  hotel.  He  was  never  seen  again,  although 
some  of  the  sailors  declared  that  they  had  seen  him  on  the 
wharf  without  the  portmanteau,  and  they  had  drunk  to 
gether  at  a  low  grog  shop  on  the  street  corner.  He  had  ev 
idently  fallen  through  some  hole  in  the  wharf.  As  he  was 
seen  only  with  the  sailors,  who  also  knew  he  had  no  ready 
money  on  his  person,  there  was  no  suspicion  of  foul  play. 

"For  all  that,  don't  you  know,"  continued  Sir  William, 
with  a  forced  laugh,  which  struck  Randolph  as  not  only 
discordant,  but  as  having  an  insolent  significance,  "  it  might 
have  been  a  deuced  bad  business  for  you,  eh  ?  Last  man 
who  was  with  him,  eh  ?  In  possession  of  his  portmanteau, 
eh  ?  Wearing  his  clothes,  eh  ?  Awfully  clever  of  you  to 
go  straight  to  the  bank  with  it.  'Pon  my  word,  my  legal 
man  wanted  to  pounce  down  on  you  as  '  accessory  '  until  I 
and  Dingwall  called  him  off.  But  it 's  all  right  now." 

Randolph's  antagonism  to  the  man  increased.  "The 
investigation  seems  to  have  been  peculiar,"  he  said  dryly, 
"for,  if  I  remember  rightly,  at  the  coroner's  inquest  on 
the  body  I  saw  you  with,  the  verdict  returned  was  of  the 
death  of  an  unknown  man." 


TRENT'S  TRUST  49 

"Yes;  we  had  n't  clear  proof  of  identity  then,"  he  re 
turned  coolly,  "  but  we  had  a  reexamination  of  the  body 
before  witnesses  afterward,  and  a  verdict  according  to  the 
facts.  That  was  kept  out  of  the  papers  in  deference  to  the 
feelings  of  the  family  and  friends.  I  fancy  you  would  n't 
have  liked  to  be  cross-examined  before  a  stupid  jury  about 
what  you  were  doing  with  Jack's  portmanteau,  even  if  we 
were  satisfied  with  it." 

"I  should  have  been  glad  to  testify  to  the  kindness  of 
your  brother,  at  any  risk,"  returned  Randolph  stoutly. 
"You  have  heard  that  the  portmanteau  was  stolen  from 
me,  but  the  amount  of  money  it  contained  has  been  placed 
in  Mr.  Dingwall's  hands  for  disposal." 

"Its  contents  were  known,  and  all  that 's  been  settled," 
returned  Sir  William,  rising.  "But,."  he  continued,  with 
his  forced  laugh,  which  to  Randolph's  fancy  masked  a  cer 
tain  threatening  significance,  "I  say,  it  would  have  been 
a  beastly  business,  don't  you  know,  if  you  had  been  called 
upon  to  produce  it  again  —  ha,  ha !  —  eh  ?  " 

Returning  to  the  dining  room,  Randolph  found  Miss 
Avondale  alone  on  a  corner  of  the  sofa.  She  swept  her 
skirts  aside  as  he  approached,  as  an  invitation  for  him  to  sit 
beside  her.  Still  sore  from  his  experience,  he  accepted 
only  in  the  hope  that  she  was  about  to  confide  to  him  her 
opinion  of  this  strange  story  But,  to  his  chagrin,  she 
looked  at  him  over  her  fan  with  a  mischievous  tolerance. 
"You  seemed  more  interested  in  the  cousin  than  the  bro 
ther  of  your  patron." 

Once  Randolph  might  have  been  flattered  at  this.  But 
her  speech  seemed  to  him  only  an  echo  of  the  general 
heartlessness.  "  I  found  Miss  Eversleigh  very  sympathetic 
over  the  fate  of  the  unfortunate  man,  whom  nobody  else 
here  seems  to  care  for,"  said  Randolph  coldly. 

"Yes,"  returned  Miss  Avondale  composedly;  "I  believe 
she  was  a  great  friend  of  Captain  Dornton  when  she  was 


50  TRENT'S  TRUST 

quite  a  child,  and  I  don't  think  she  can  expect  much  from 
Sir  William,  who  is  very  different  from  his  brother.  In 
fact,  she  was  one  of  the  relatives  who  came  over  here  in 
quest  of  the  captain,  when  it  was  believed  he  was  living 
and  the  heir.  He  was  quite  a  patron  of  hers." 

"But  was  he  not  also  one  of  yours?"  said  Randolph 
bluntly. 

"  I  think  I  told  you  I  was  the  friend  of  the  boy  and  of 
poor  Paquita,  the  boy's  mother,"  said  Miss  Avondale  qui 
etly.  "I  never  saw  Captain  Dornton  but  twice." 

Randolph  noticed  that  she  had  not  said  "wife,"  although 
in  her  previous  confidences  she  had  so  described  the  mo 
ther.  But,  as  Dingwall  had  said,  why  should  she  have 
exposed  the  boy's  illegitimacy  to  a  comparative  stranger; 
and  if  she  herself  had  been  deceived  about  it,  why  should  he 
expect  her  to  tell  him?  And  yet  —  he  was  not  satisfied. 

He  was  startled  by  a  little  laugh.  "Well,  I  declare, 
you  look  as  if  you  resented  the  fact  that  your  benefactor  had 
turned  out  to  be  a  baronet  —  just  as  in  some  novel  —  and 
that  you  have  rendered  a  service  to  the  English  aristocracy. 
If  you  are  thinking  of  poor  Bobby,"  she  continued,  with 
out  the  slightest  show  of  self-consciousness,  "  Sir  William 
will  provide  for  him,  and  thinks  of  taking  him  to  England 
to  restore  his  health.  Now  "  —  with  her  smiling,  tolerant 
superiority  —  "you  must  go  and  talk  to  Miss  Eversleigh. 
I  see  her  looking  this  way,  and  I  don't  think  she  half  likes 
me  as  it  is." 

Randolph,  who,  however,  also  saw  that  Sir  William  was 
lounging  toward  them,  here  rose  formally,  as  if  permitting 
the  latter  to  take  the  vacated  seat.  This  partly  imposed  on 
him  the  necessity  of  seeking  Miss  Eversleigh,  who,  having 
withdrawn  to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  was  turning  over 
the  leaves  of  an  album.  As  Randolph  joined  her,  she 
said,  without  looking  up,  "Is  Miss  Avondale  a  friend  of 
yours  ?  " 


TRENT'S  TRUST  51 

The  question  was  so  pertinent  to  his  reflections  at  the  mo 
ment  that  he  answered  impulsively,  "I  really  don't  know." 

"Yes,  that 's  the  answer,  I  think,  most  of  her  acquaint 
ances  would  give,  if  they  were  asked  the  same  question 
and  replied  honestly,"  said  the  young  girl,  as  if  musing. 

"Even  Sir  William?"  suggested  Randolph,  half  smil 
ing,  yet  wondering  at  her  unlooked-for  serious  shrewdness 
as  he  glanced  toward  the  sofa. 

"Yes;  but  he  wouldn't  care.  You  see,  there  would  be 
a  pair  of  them."  She  stopped  with  a  slight  blush,  as  if 
she  had  gone  too  far,  but  corrected  herself  in  her  former 
youthful  frankness:  "You  don't  mind  my  saying  what  I 
did  of  her  ?  You  're  not  such  a  particular  friend  ?  " 

"We  both  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  your  cousin  Jack," 
said  Eandolph,  in  some  embarrassment. 

"Yes,  but  you  feel  it  and  she  does  n't.  So  that  does  n't 
make  you  friends." 

"But  she  has  taken  good  care  of  Captain  Dornton's 
child,"  suggested  Randolph  loyally. 

He  stopped,  however,  feeling  that  he  was  on  dangerous 
ground.  But  Miss  Eversleigh  put  her  own  construction 
on  his  reticence,  and  said,  — 

"I  don't  think  she  cares  for  it  much  —  or  for  any  chil 
dren." 

Randolph  remembered  his  own  impression  the  only  time 
he  had  ever  seen  her  with  the  child,  and  was  struck  with 
the  young  girl's  instinct  again  coinciding  with  his  own. 
But,  possibly  because  he  knew  he  could  never  again  feel 
toward  Miss  Avondale  as  he  had,  he  was  the  more  anxious 
to  be  just,  and  he  was  about  to  utter  a  protest  against  this 
general  assumption,  when  the  voice  of  Sir  William  broke 
in  upon  them.  He  was  taking  his  leave  —  and  the  oppor 
tunity  of  accompanying  Miss  Avondale  to  her  lodgings  on 
the  way  to  his  hotel.  He  lingered  a  moment  over  his 
handshaking  with  Randolph. 


52  TRENT'S  TRUST 

"Awfully  glad  to  have  met  you,  and  I  fancy  you're 
awfully  glad  to  get  rid  of  what  they  call  your  '  trust. ' 
Must  have  given  you  a  beastly  lot  of  bother,  eh  —  might 
have  given  you  more  ?  " 

He  nodded  familiarly  to  Miss  Eversleigh,  and  turned 
away  with  Miss  Avondale,  who  waved  her  usual  smiling 
patronage  to  Randolph,  even  including  his  companion  in 
that  half-amused,  half-superior  salutation.  Perhaps  it  was 
this  that  put  a  sudden  hauteur  into  the  young  girl's  expres 
sion  as  she  stared  at  Miss  Avondale' s  departing  figure. 

"If  you  ever  come  to  England,  Mr.  Trent,"  she  said, 
with  a  pretty  dignity  in  her  youthful  face,  "I  hope  you 
will  find  some  people  not  quite  so  rude  as  my  cousin 
and  "  — 

"Miss  Avondale,  you  would  say,"  returned  Randolph 
quietly.  "As  to  her,  I  am  quite  accustomed  to  her  ma- 
turer  superiority,  which,  I  am  afraid,  is  the  effect  of  my 
own  youth  and  inexperience;  and  I  believe  that,  in  course 
of  time,  your  cousin's  brusqueness  might  be  as  easily  un 
derstood  by  me.  I  dare  say,"  he  added,  with  a  laugh, 
"that  I  must  seem  to  them  a  very  romantic  visionary  with 
my  '  trust, '  and  the  foolish  importance  1  have  put  upon  a 
very  trivial  occurrence." 

"/don't  think  so,"  said  the  girl  quickly,  "and  I  con 
sider  Bill  very  rude,  and,"  she  added,  with  a  return  of  her 
boyish  frankness,  "I  shall  tell  him  so.  As  for  Miss  Avon- 
dale,  she  's  at  least  thirty,  I  understand;  perhaps  she  can't 
help  showing  it  in  that  way,  too." 

But  here  Randolph,  to  evade  further  personal  allusions, 
continued  laughingly:  "And  as  I've  lost  my  'trust,'  I 
haven't  even  that  to  show  in  defense.  Indeed,  when  you 
all  are  gone  I  shall  have  nothing  to  remind  me  of  my  kind 
benefactor.  It  will  seem  like  a  dream." 

Miss  Eversleigh  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then 
glanced  quickly  around  her.  The  rest  of  the  company 


TRENT'S  TRUST  53 

were  their  elders,  and,  engaged  in  conversation  at  the  other 
end  of  the  apartment,  had  evidently  left  the  young  people 
to  themselves. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  she  said,  with  a  youthful  air  of  mys 
tery  and  earnestness.  Randolph  saw  that  she  had  slipped 
an  Indian  bracelet,  profusely  hung  with  small  trinkets, 
from  her  arm  to  her  wrist,  and  was  evidently  selecting  one. 
It  proved  to  be  a  child's  tiny  ring  with  a  small  pearl  set 
ting.  "This  was  given  to  me  by  Cousin  Jack,"  said  Miss 
Eversleigh  in  a  low  voice,  "when  I  was  a  child,  at  some 
frolic  or  festival,  and  I  have  kept  it  ever  since.  I  brought 
it  with  me  when  we  came  here  as  a  kind  of  memento  to 
show  him.  You  know  that  is  impossible  now.  You  say 
you  have  nothing  of  his  to  keep.  Will  you  accept  this? 
I  know  he  would  be  glad  to  know  you  had  it.  You  could 
wear  it  on  your  watch  chain.  Don't  say  no,  but  take  it." 

Protesting,  yet  filled  with  a  strange  joy  and  pride,  Ran 
dolph  took  it  from  the  young  girl's  hand.  The  little  color 
which  had  deepened  on  her  cheek  cleared  away  as  he 
thanked  her  gratefully,  and  with  a  quiet  dignity  she  arose 
and  moved  toward  the  others.  Randolph  did  not  linger 
long  after  this,  and  presently  took  his  leave  of  his  host  and 
hostess. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  walked  home  that  night  in  the 
whirling  clouds  of  his  dispelled  dream.  The  airy  structure 
he  had  built  up  for  the  last  three  months  had  collapsed. 
The  enchanted  canopy  under  which  he  had  stood  with 
Miss  Avondale  was  folded  forever.  The  romance  he  had 
evolved  from  his  strange  fortune  had  come  to  an  end,  not 
prosaically,  as  such  romances  are  apt  to  do,  but  with  a  dra 
matic  termination  which,  however,  was  equally  fatal  to  his 
hopes.  At  any  other  time  he  might  have  projected  the 
wildest  hopes  from  the  fancy  that  he  and  Miss  Avondale 
were  orphaned  of  a  common  benefactor;  but  it  was  plain 
that  her  interests  were  apart  from  his.  And  there  was  an 


54  TRENT'S  TRUST 

indefinable  something  he  did  not  understand,  and  did  not 
want  to  understand,  in  the  story  she  had  told  him.  How 
much  of  it  she  had  withheld,  not  so  much  from  delicacy  or 
contempt  for  his  understanding  as  a  desire  to  mislead  him, 
he  did  not  know.  His  faith  in  her  had  gone  with  his 
romance.  It  was  not  strange  that  the  young  English  girl's 
unsophisticated  frankness  and  simple  confidences  lingered 
longest  in  his  memory,  and  that  when,  a  few  days  later, 
Mr.  Dingwall  informed  him  that  Miss  Avondale  had  sailed 
for  England  with  the  Dornton  family,  he  was  more  con 
scious  of  a  loss  in  the  stranger  girl's  departure. 

"  I  suppose  Miss  Avondale  takes  charge  of  —  of  the  hoy, 
sir  1 "  he  said  quietly. 

Mr.  Dingwall  gave  him  a  quick  glance.  "  Possibly.  Sir 
William  has  behaved  with  great  —  er  —  consideration, "  he 
replied  briefly. 

IV 

Randolph's  nature  was  too  hopeful  and  recuperative  to 
allow  him  to  linger  idly  in  the  past.  He  threw  himself 
into  his  work  at  the  bank  with  his  old  earnestness  and  a 
certain  simple  conscientiousness  which,  while  it  often  pro 
voked  the  raillery  of  his  fellow  clerks,  did  not  escape  the 
eyes  of  his  employers.  He  was  advanced  step  by  step,  and 
by  the  end  of  the  year  was  put  in  charge  of  the  correspond 
ence  with  banks  and  agencies.  He  had  saved  some  money, 
and  had  made  one  or  two  profitable  investments.  He  was 
enabled  to  take  better  apartments  in  the  same  building  he 
had  occupied.  He  had  few  of  the  temptations  of  youth. 
His  fear  of  poverty  and  his  natural  taste  kept  him  from  the 
speculative  and  material  excesses  of  the  period.  A  dis 
trust  of  his  romantic  weakness  kept  him  from  society  and 
meaner  entanglements  which  might  have  beset  his  good 
looks  and  good  nature.  He  worked  in  his  rooms  at  night 
and  forbore  his  old  evening  rambles.  _ 


TRENT'S  TRUST  55 

As  the  year  wore  on  to  the  anniversary  of  his  arrival, 
he  thought  much  of  the  dead  man  who  had  inspired  his 
fortunes,  and  with  it  a  sense  of  his  old  doubts  and  suspi 
cions  revived.  His  reason  had  obliged  him  to  accept  the 
loss  of  the  fateful  portmanteau  as  an  ordinary  theft;  his 
instinct  remained  unconvinced.  There  was  no  superstition 
connected  with  his  loss.  His  own  prosperity  had  not  been 
impaired  by  it.  On  the  contrary,  he  reflected  bitterly  that 
the  dead  man  had  apparently  died  only  to  benefit  others. 
At  such  times  he  recalled,  with  a  pleasure  that  he  knew 
might  become  perilous,  the  tall  English  girl  who  had  de 
fended  Dornton's  memory  and  echoed  his  own  sympathy. 
But  that  was  all  over  now. 

One  stormy  night,  not  unlike  that  eventful  one  of  his 
past  experience,  Randolph  sought  his  rooms  in  the  teeth 
of  a  southwest  gale.  As  he  buffeted  his  way  along  the 
rain- washed  pavement  of  Montgomery  Street,  it  was  not 
strange  that  his  thoughts  reverted  to  that  night  and  the 
memory  of  his  dead  protector.  But  reaching  his  apartment, 
he  sternly  banished  them  with  the  vanished  romance  they 
revived,  and  lighting  his  lamp,  laid  out  his  papers  in  the 
prospect  of  an  evening  of  uninterrupted  work.  He  was 
surprised,  however,  after  a  little  interval,  by  the  sound  of 
uncertain  and  shuffling  steps  on  the  half-lighted  passage 
outside,  the  noise  of  some  heavy  article  set  down  on  the 
floor,  and  then  a  tentative  knock  at  his  door.  A  little 
impatiently  he  called,  "Come  in." 

The  door  opened  slowly,  and  out  of  the  half  obscurity  of 
the  passage  a  thickset  figure  lurched  toward  him  into  the 
full  light  of  the  room.  Eandolph  half  rose,  and  then  sank 
back  into  his  chair,  awed,  spellbound,  and  motionless.  He 
saw  the  figure  standing  plainly  before  him;  he  saw  dis 
tinctly  the  familiar  furniture  of  his  room,  the  storm-twin 
kling  lights  in  the  windows  opposite,  the  flash  of  passing 
carriage  lamps  in  the  street  below.  But  the  figure  before 


56  TRENT'S  TRUST 

him  was  none  other  than  the  dead  man  of  whom  he  had 
just  been  thinking. 

The  figure  looked  at  him  intently,  and  then  burst  into 
a  fit  of  unmistakable  laughter.  It  was  neither  loud  nor 
unpleasant,  and  yet  it  provoked  a  disagreeable  recollection. 
Nevertheless,  it  dissipated  Randolph's  superstitious  tremor, 
for  he  had  never  before  heard  of  a  ghost  who  laughed  heart- 

ay- 

"You  don't  remember  me,"  said  the  man.  "Belay 
there,  and  I'll  freshen  your  memory."  He  stepped  back 
to  the  door,  opened  it,  put  his  arm  out  into  the  hall,  and 
brought  in  a  portmanteau,  closed  the  door,  and  appeared 
before  Randolph  again  with  the  portmanteau  in  his  hand. 
It  was  the  one  that  had  been  stolen.  "  There !  "  he  said. 

"Captain  Dornton,"  murmured  Randolph. 

The  man  laughed  again  and  flung  down  the  portmanteau. 
"You've  got  my  name  pat  enough,  lad,  I  see;  but  I  reck 
oned  you  'd  have  spotted  me  without  that  portmanteau." 

"I  see  you  've  got  it  back,"  stammered  Randolph  in  his 
embarrassment.  "It  was  —  stolen  from  me." 

Captain  Dornton  laughed  again,  dropped  into  a  chair, 
rubbed  his  hands  on  his  knees,  and  turned  his  face  toward 
Randolph.  "Yes;  I  stole  it  —  or  had  it  stolen  —  the 
same  thing,  for  I  'm  responsible." 

"But  I  would  have  given  it  up  to  you  at  once,"  said 
Randolph  reproachfully,  clinging  to  the  only  idea  he  could 
understand  in  his  utter  bewilderment.  "I  have  religiously 
and  faithfully  kept  it  for  you,  with  all  its  contents,  ever 
since  —  you  disappeared. " 

"I  know  it,  lad,"  said  Captain  Dornton,  rising,  and  ex 
tending  a  brown,  weather-beaten  hand  which  closed  heartily 
on  the  young  man's;  "no  need  to  say  that.  And  you  've 
kept  it  even  better  than  you  know.  Look  here !  " 

He  lifted  the  portmanteau  to  his  lap  and  disclosed  be 
hind  the  usual  small  pouch  or  pocket  in  the  lid»a  slit  in 


TRENT'S  TRUST  57 

the  lining.  "Between  the  lining  and  the  outer  leather," 
he  went  on  grimly,  "I  had  two  or  three  bank  notes  that 
came  to  about  a  thousand  dollars,  and  some  papers,  lad, 
that,  reckoning  by  and  large,  might  be  worth  to  me  a  mil 
lion.  When  I  got  that  portmanteau  back  they  were  all 
there,  gummed  in,  just  as  I  had  left  them.  I  didn't  show 
up  and  come  for  them  myself,  for  I  was  lying  low  at  the 
time,  and  —  no  offense,  lad  —  I  didn't  know  how  you 
stood  with  a  party  who  was  no  particular  friend  of  mine. 
An  old  shipmate  whom  I  set  to  watch  that  party  quite  ac 
cidentally  run  across  your  bows  in  the  ferry  boat,  and  heard 
enough  to  make  him  follow  in  your  wake  here,  where  he 
got  the  portmanteau.  It's  all  right,"  he  said,  with  a 
laugh,  waving  aside  with  his  brown  hand  Eandolph's  pro 
testing  gesture.  "  The  old  bag  's  only  got  back  to  its  right 
ful  owner.  It  may  n't  have  been  got  in  shipshape  'Frisco 
style,  but  when  a  man's  life  is  at  stake,  at  least,  when  it 's 
a  question  of  his  being  considered  dead  or  alive,  he  's  got  to 
take  things  as  he  finds  'em,  and  /found  'em  d bad." 

In  a  flash  of  recollection  Randolph  remembered  the  ob 
truding  miner  on  the  ferry  boat,  the  same  figure  on  the 
wharf  corner,  and  the  advantage  taken  of  his  absence  with 
Miss  Avondale.  And  Miss  Avondale  was  the  "  party " 
this  man's  shipmate  was  watching!  He  felt  his  face  crim 
soning,  yet  he  dared  not  question  him  further,  nor  yet  de 
fend  her.  Captain  Dornton  noticed  it,  and  with  a  friendly 
tact,  which  Randolph  had  not  expected  of  him,  rising 
again,  laid  his  hand  gently  on  the  young  man's  shoulder. 

"Look  here,  lad,"  he  said,  with  his  pleasant  smile; 
"don't  you  worry  your  head  about  the  ways  or  doings  of 
the  Dornton  family,  or  any  of  their  friends.  They  're  a 
queer  lot  —  including  your  humble  servant.  You've  done 
the  square  thing  accordin'  to  your  lights.  You  've  ridden 
straight  from  start  to  finish,  with  no  jockeying,  and  I 
shan't  forget  it.  There  are  only  two  men  who  haven't 


58  TEENT'S  TRUST 

failed  me  when  I  trusted  them.  One  was  you  when  I  gave 
you  my  portmanteau ;  the  other  was  Jack  Redhill  when  he 
stole  it  from  you." 

He  dropped  back  in  his  chair  again,  and  laughed  silently. 

"Then  you  did  not  fall  overboard  as  they  supposed," 
stammered  Randolph  at  last. 

"Not  much!  But  the  next  thing  to  it.  It  wasn't  the 
water  that  I  took  in  that  knocked  me  out,  my  lad,  but 
something  stronger.  I  was  shanghaied." 

"  Shanghaied  1 "  repeated  Randolph  vacantly. 

"Yes,  shanghaied!  Hocused!  Drugged  at  that  gin- 
mill  on  the  wharf  by  a  lot  of  crimps,  who,  mistaking  me 
for  a  better  man,  shoved  me,  blind  drunk  and  helpless, 
down  the  steps  into  a  boat,  and  out  to  a  short-handed  brig 
in  the  stream.  When  I  came  to  I  was  outside  the  Heads, 
pointed  for  Guayaquil.  When  they  found  they  'd  cap 
tured,  not  a  poor  Jack,  but  a  man  who  'd  trod  a  quarter 
deck,  who  knew,  and  was  known  at  every  port  on  the  trad 
ing  line,  and  who  could  make  it  hot  for  them,  they  were 
glad  to  compromise  and  set  me  ashore  at  Acapulco,  and  six 
weeks  later  I  landed  in  'Frisco." 

"  Safe  and  sound,  thank  Heaven !  "  said  Randolph  joy 
ously. 

"Not  exactly,  lad,"  said  Captain  Dornton  grimly,  "but 
dead  and  sat  upon  by  the  coroner,  and  my  body  comfortably 
boxed  up  and  on  its  way  to  England." 

"But  that  was  nine  months  ago.  What  have  you  been 
doing  since?  Why  didn't  you  declare  yourself  then?" 
said  Randolph  impatiently,  a  little  irritated  by  the  man's 
extreme  indifference.  He  really  talked  like  an  amused 
spectator  of  his  own  misfortunes. 

"  Steady,  lad.  I  know  what  you  're  going  to  say.  I 
know  all  that  happened.  But  the  first  thing  I  found  when 
I  got  back  was  that  the  shanghai  business  had  saved  my 
life ;  that  but  for  that  I  would  have  really  been  occupying 


TRENT'S  TRUST  59 

that  box  on  its  way  to  England,  instead  of  the  poor  devil 
who  was  taken  for  me." 

A  cold  tremor  passed  over  Randolph.  Captain  Dornton, 
however,  was  tolerantly  smiling. 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Randolph  breathlessly. 

Captain  Dornton  rose  and,  walking  to  the  door,  looked 
out  into  the  passage;  then  he  shut  the  door  carefully  and 
returned,  glancing  about  the  room  and  at  the  storm-washed 
windows.  "I  thought  I  heard  some  one  outside.  I'm 
lying  low  just  now,  and  only  go  out  at  night,  for  I  don't 
want  this  thing  blown  before  I  'm  ready.  Got  anything 
to  drink  here  ?  " 

Randolph  replied  by  taking  a  decanter  of  whiskey  and 
glasses  from  a  cupboard.  The  captain  filled  his  glass,  and 
continued  with  the  same  gentle  but  exasperating  noncha 
lance,  "  Mind  my  smoking  1  " 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Randolph,  pushing  a  cigar  toward 
him.  But  the  captain  put  it  aside,  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
short  black  clay  pipe, stuffed  it  with  black  "Cavendish  plug," 
which  he  had  first  chipped  off  in  the  palm  of  his  hand  with 
a  large  clasp  knife,  lighted  it,  and  took  a  few  meditative 
whiffs.  Then,  glancing  at  Randolph's  papers,  he  said,  "I  'm 
not  keeping  you  from  your  work,  lad  1 "  and  receiving  a 
reply  in  the  negative,  puffed  at  his  pipe  and  once  more  set 
tled  himself  comfortably  in  his  chair,  with  his  dark, 
bearded  profile  toward  Randolph. 

"You  were  saying  just  now  you  didn't  understand,"  he 
went  on  slowly,  without  looking  up;  "so  you  must  take 
your  own  bearings  from  what  I  'm  telling  you.  When  I 
met  you  that  night  I  had  just  arrived  from  Melbourne.  I 
had  been  lucky  in  some  trading  speculations  I  had  out  there, 
and  I  had  some  bills  with  me,  but  no  money  except  what 
I  had  tucked  in  the  skin  of  that  portmanteau  and  a  few 
papers  connected  with  my  family  at  home.  When  a  man 
lives  the  roving  kind  of  life  I  have,  he  learns  to  keep  all 


60  TRENT'S  TRUST 

that  he  cares  for  under  his  own  hat,  and  is  n't  apt  to  blab 
to  friends.  But  it  got  out  in  some  way  on  the  voyage  that 
I  had  money,  and  as  there  was  a  mixed  lot  of  '  Sydney 
ducks '  and  '  ticket  of  leave  men '  on  board,  it  seems  they 
hatched  a  nice  little  plot  to  waylay  me  on  the  wharf  on 
landing,  rob  me,  and  drop  me  into  deep  water.  To  make 
it  seem  less  suspicious,  they  associated  themselves  with  a 
lot  of  crimps  who  were  on  the  lookout  for  our  sailors,  who 
were  going  ashore  that  night  too.  I  'd  my  suspicions  that 
a  couple  of  those  men  might  be  waiting  for  me  at  the  end 
of  the  wharf.  I  left  the  ship  just  a  minute  or  two  before 
the  sailors  did.  Then  I  met  you.  That  meeting,  my  lad, 
was  my  first  step  toward  salvation.  For  the  two  men  let 
you  pass  with  my  portmanteau,  which  they  didn't  recog 
nize,  as  I  knew  they  would  me,  and  supposed  you  were  a 
stranger,  and  lay  low,  waiting  for  me.  I,  who  went  into 
the  gin-mill  with  the  other  sailors,  was  foolish  enough  to 
drink,  and  was  drugged  and  crimped  as  they  were.  I 
had  n't  thought  of  that.  A  poor  devil  of  a  ticket  of  leave 
man,  about  my  size,  was  knocked  down  for  me,  and,"  he 
added,  suppressing  a  laugh,  "will  be  buried,  deeply  la 
mented,  in  the  chancel  of  Dornton  Church.  While  the  row 
was  going  on,  the  skipper,  fearing  to  lose  other  men, 
warped  out  into  the  stream,  and  so  knew  nothing  of  what 
happened  to  me.  When  they  found  what  they  thought 
was  my  body,  he  was  willing  to  identify  it  in  the  hope  that 
the  crime  might  be  charged  to  the  crimps,  and  so  did  the 
other  sailor  witnesses.  But  my  brother  Bill,  who  had  just 
arrived  here  from  Callao,  where  he  had  been  hunting  for 
me,  hushed  it  up  to  prevent  a  scandal.  All  the  same,  Bill 
might  have  known  the  body  was  n't  mine,  even  though  he 
hadn't  seen  me  for  years." 

"But  it  was  frightfully  disfigured,  so  that  even  /,  who 
saw  you  only  once,  could  not  have  sworn  it  was  not  you," 
said  Randolph  quickly. 


TRENT'S  TRUST  61 

"Humph!  "  said  Captain  Dornton  musingly.  "Bill  may 

have  acted  on  the  square  —  though  he  was  in  a  d d 

hurry. " 

"But,"  said  Randolph  eagerly,  "you  will  put  an  end  to 
all  this  now.  You  will  assert  yourself.  You  have  wit 
nesses  to  prove  your  identity." 

"Steady,  lad,"  said  the  captain,  waving  his  pipe  gently. 
"  Of  course  I  have.  But "  —  he  stopped,  laid  down  his 
pipe,  and  put  his  hands  doggedly  in  his  pockets  —  "is  it 
worth  it  ?  "  Seeing  the  look  of  amazement  in  Randolph's 
face,  he  laughed  his  low  laugh,  and  settled  himself  back  in 
his  chair  again.  "No,"  he  said  quietly,  "if  it  wasn't  for 
my  son,  and  what's  due  him  as  my  heir,  I  suppose  —  I 
reckon  I  'd  just  chuck  the  whole  d d  thing." 

"What!"  said  Randolph.  "Give  up  the  property,  the 
title,  the  family  honor,  the  wrong  done  to  your  reputation, 
the  punishment "  —  He  hesitated,  fearing  he  had  gone 
too  far. 

Captain  Dornton  withdrew  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  with 
a  gesture  of  caution,  and  holding  it  up,  said :  "  Steady,  lad. 
We  '11  come  to  that  by  and  by.  As  to  the  property  and 
title,  I  cut  and  run  from  them  ten  years  ago.  To  me  they 
meant  only  the  old  thing  —  the  life  of  a  country  gentle 
man,  the  hunting,  the  shooting,  the  whole  beastly  business 
that  the  land,  over  there,  hangs  like  a  millstone  round 
your  neck.  They  meant  all  this  to  me,  who  loved  adven 
ture  and  the  sea  from  my  cradle.  I  cut  the  property,  for 
I  hated  it,  and  I  hate  it  still.  If  I  went  back  I  should 
hear  the  sea  calling  me  day  and  night;  I  should  feel  the 
breath  of  the  southwest  trades  in  every  wind  that  blew  over 
that  tight  little  island  yonder;  I  should  be  always  scenting 
the  old  trail,  lad,  the  trail  that  leads  straight  out  of  the  Gate 
to  swoop  down  to  the  South  Seas.  Do  you  think  a  man 
who  has  felt  his  ship's  bows  heave  and  plunge  under  him  in 
the  long  Pacific  swell — just  ahead  of  him  a  reef  breaking 


62  TRENT'S  TRUST 

white  into  the  lagoon,  and  beyond  a  fence  of  feathery  palms 
—  cares  to  follow  hounds  over  gray  hedges  under  a  gray 
November  sky  ?  And  the  society  ?  A  man  who  's  got  a 
speaking  acquaintance  in  every  port  from  Acapulco  to  Mel 
bourne,  who  knows  every  den  and  every  longshoreman  in  it 
from  a  South  American  tienda  to  a  Samoan  beach-comber's 
hut,  —  what  does  he  want  with  society  ?  "  He  paused  as 
Randolph's  eyes  were  fixed  wonderingly  on  the  first  sign 
of  emotion  on  his  weather-beaten  face,  which  seemed  for  a 
moment  to  glow  with  the  strength  and  freshness  of  the  sea, 
and  then  said,  with  a  laugh:  "You  stare,  lad.  Well,  for 
all  the  Dorntons  are  rather  proud  of  their  family,  like  as 
not  there  was  some  beastly  old  Danish  pirate  among  them 
long  ago,  and  I  've  got  a  taste  of  his  blood  in  me.  But 
I  'm  not  quite  as  bad  as  that  yet." 

He  laughed,  and  carelessly  went  on:  "As  to  the  family 
honor,  I  don't  see  that  it  will  be  helped  by  my  ripping  up 
the  whole  thing  and  perhaps  showing  that  Bill  was  a  little 
too  previous  in  identifying  me.  As  to  my  reputation,  that 
was  gone  after  I  left  home,  and  if  I  had  n't  been  the  legal 
heir  they  wouldn't  have  bothered  their  heads  about  me. 
My  father  had  given  me  up  long  ago,  and  there  is  n't  a  man, 
woman,  or  child  that  wouldn't  now  welcome  Bill  in  my 
place. " 

"There  is  one  who  wouldn't,"  said  Eandolph  impul 
sively. 

"You  mean  Caroline  Avondale?"  said  Captain  Dornton 
dryly. 

Randolph  colored.  "No;  I  mean  Miss  Eversleigh,  who 
was  with  your  brother." 

Captain  Dornton  reflected.  "To  be  sure!  Sibyl  Ever 
sleigh  !  I  have  n't  seen  her  since  she  was  so  high.  I  used 
to  call  her  my  little  sweetheart.  So  Sybby  remembered 
Cousin  Jack  and  came  to  find  him  ?  But  when  did  you 
meet  her  1 "  he  asked  suddenly,  as  if  this  was  the  only  detail 


TRENT'S  TRUST  63 

of  the  past  which  had  escaped  him,  fixing  his  frank  eyes 
upon  Randolph. 

The  young  man  recounted  at  some  length  the  dinner 
party  at  DingwalPs,  his  conversation  with  Miss  Eversleigh, 
and  his  interview  with  Sir  William,  but  spoke  little  of  Miss 
Avondale.  To  his  surprise,  the  captain  listened  smilingly, 
arid  only  said:  "That  was  like  Billy  to  take  a  rise  out  of 
you  by  pretending  you  were  suspected.  That 's  his  way  — 
a  little  rough  when  you  don't  know  him  and  he  's  got  a  lit 
tle  grog  amidships.  All  the  same,  I  'd  have  given  some 
thing  to  have  heard  him  '  running  '  you,  when  all  the  while 
you  had  the  biggest  bulge  on  him,  only  neither  of  you  knew 
it."  He  laughed  again,  until  Randolph,  amazed  at  his  lev 
ity  and  indifference,  lost  his  patience. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said  bluntly,  "that  they  don't  be 
lieve  you  were  legally  married  1 " 

But  Captain  Dornton  only  continued  to  laugh,  until,  see 
ing  his  companion's  horrified  face,  he  became  demure.  "I 
suppose  Bill  didn't,  for  Bill  had  sense  enough  to  know  that 
otherwise  he  would  have  to  take  a  back  seat  to  Bobby." 

"But  did  Miss  Avondale  know  you  were  legally  married, 
and  that  your  son  was  the  heir  ?  "  asked  Randolph  bluntly. 

"She  had  no  reason  to  suspect  otherwise,  although  we 
were  married  secretly.  She  was  an  old  friend  of  my  wife, 
not  particularly  of  mine." 

Randolph  sat  back  amazed  and  horrified.  Those  were 
her  own  words.  Or  was  this  man  deceiving  him  as  the 
others  had? 

But  the  captain,  eying  him  curiously,  but  still  amusedly, 
added:  "I  even  thought  of  bringing  her  as  one  of  my  wit 
nesses,  until "  — 

"  Until  what  1  "  asked  Randolph  quickly,  as  he  saw  the 
captain  had  hesitated. 

"Until  I  found  she  wasn't  to  be  trusted;  until  I  found 
she  was  too  thick  with  Bill,"  said  the  captain  bluntly. 


64  TRENT'S  TRUST 

"And  now  she  's  gone  to  England  with  him  and  the  boy, 
I  suppose  she  '11  make  him  come  to  terms." 

"Come  to  terms?  "  echoed  Kandolph.  "I  don't  under 
stand."  Yet  he  had  an  instinctive  fear  that  he  did. 

"Well,"  said  the  captain  slowly,  "suppose  she  might  pre 
fer  the  chance  of  being  the  wife  of  a  grown-up  baronet  to 
being  the  governess  of  one  who  was  only  a  minor  ?  She  's 
a  cute  girl,"  he  added  dryly. 

"But,"  said  Randolph  indignantly,  "you  have  other  wit 
nesses,  I  hope." 

"Of  course  I  have.  I  've  got  the  Spanish  records  now 
from  the  Callao  priest,  and  they  're  put  in  a  safe  place 
should  anything  happen  to  me  —  if  anything  could  happen 
to  a  dead  man !  "  he  added  grimly.  "  These  proofs  were 
all  I  was  waiting  for  before  I  made  up  my  mind  whether 
I  should  blow  the  whole  thing,  or  let  it  slide. " 

Randolph  looked  again  with  amazement  at  this  strange 
man  who  seemed  so  indifferent  to  the  claims  of  wealth,  po 
sition,  and  even  to  revenge.  It  seemed  inconceivable,  and 
yet  he  could  not  help  being  impressed  with  his  perfect  sin 
cerity.  He  was  relieved,  however,  when  Captain  Dornton 
rose  with  apparent  reluctance  and  put  away  his  pipe. 

"Now  look  here,  my  lad,  I  'm  right  glad  to  have  over 
hauled  you  again,  whatever  happened  or  is  going  to  happen, 
and  there  's  my  hand  upon  it!  Now,  to  come  to  business. 
I  'm  going  over  to  England  on  this  job,  and  I  want  you  to 
come  and  help  me." 

Randolph's  heart  leaped.  The  appeal  revived  all  his  old 
boyish  enthusiasm,  with  his  secret  loyalty  to  the  man  be 
fore  him.  But  he  suddenly  remembered  his  past  illusions, 
and  for  an  instant  he  hesitated. 

"But  the  bank,"  he  stammered,  scarce  knowing  what  to 
say. 

The  captain  smiled.  "I  will  pay  you  better  than  the 
bank ;  and  at  the  end  of  four  months,  in  whatever  way  this 


TRENT'S  TRUST  65 

job  turns  out,  if  you  still  wish  to  return  here,  I  will  see 
that  you  are  secured  from  any  loss.  Perhaps  you  may  be 
able  to  get  a  leave  of  absence.  But  your  real  object  must 
be  kept  a  secret  from  every  one.  Not  a  word  of  my  exist 
ence  or  my  purpose  must  be  blown  before  I  am  ready.  You 
and  Jack  Eedhill  are  all  that  know  it  now." 

"  But  you  have  a  lawyer  ?  "  said  the  surprised  Randolph. 

"Not  yet.  I  'm  my  own  lawyer  in  this  matter  until  I 
get  fairly  under  way.  I  've  studied  the  law  enough  to  know 
that  as  soon  as  I  prove  that  I  'm  alive  the  case  must  go  on 
on  account  of  my  heir,  whether  /choose  to  cry  quits  or  not. 
And  it 's  just  that  that  holds  my  hand." 

Randolph  stared  at  the  extraordinary  man  before  him. 
For  a  moment,  as  the  strange  story  of  his  miraculous  escape 
and  his  still  more  wonderful  indifference  to  it  all  recurred 
to  his  mind,  he  felt  a  doubt  of  the  narrator's  truthfulness 
or  his  sanity.  But  another  glance  at  the  sailor's  frank  eyes 
dispelled  that  momentary  suspicion.  He  held  out  his  hand, 
as  frankly,  and  grasping  Captain  Dornton's,  said,  "I  will 
go." 


Randolph's  request  for  a  four  months'  leave  of  absence 
was  granted  with  little  objection  and  no  curiosity.  He  had 
acquired  the  confidence  of  his  employers,  and  beyond  Mr. 
Revelstoke's  curt  surprise  that  a  young  fellow  on  the  road 
to  fortune  should  sacrifice  so  much  time  to  irrelevant  travel, 
and  the  remark,  "But  you  know  your  own  business  best," 
there  was  no  comment.  It  struck  the  young  man,  however, 
that  Mr.  Dingwall's  slight  coolness  on  receiving  the  news 
might  be  attributed  to  a  suspicion  that  he  was  following 
Miss  Avondale,  whom  he  had  fancied  Dingwall  disliked,  and 
he  quickly  made  certain  inquiries  in  regard  to  Miss  Ever- 
sleigh  and  the  possibility  of  his  meeting  her.  As,  without 
intending  it,  and  to  his  own  surprise,  he  achieved  a  blush  in 


66  TRENT'S  TRUST 

so  doing,  which  Dingwall  noted,  he  received  a  gracious  re 
ply,  and  the  suggestion  that  it  was  "  quite  proper  "  for  him, 
on  arriving,  to  send  the  young  lady  his  card. 

Captain  Dornton,  under  the  alias  of  "Captain  Johns," 
was  ready  to  catch  the  next  steamer  to  the  Isthmus,  and  in 
two  days  they  sailed.  The  voyage  was  uneventful,  and  if 
Randolph  had  expected  any  enthusiasm  on  the  part  of  the 
captain  in  the  mission  on  which  he  was  now  fairly  launched, 
he  would  have  been  disappointed.  Although  his  frankness 
was  unchanged,  he  volunteered  no  confidences.  It  was  evi 
dent  he  was  fully  acquainted  with  the  legal  strength  of  his 
claim,  yet  he,  as  evidently,  deferred  making  any  plan  of  re 
dress  until  he  reached  England.  Of  Miss  Eversleigh  he  was 
more  communicative.  "You  would  have  liked  her  better, 
my  lad,  if  you  hadn't  been  bewitched  by  the  Avondale 
woman,  for  she  is  the  whitest  of  the  Dorntons."  In  vain 
Randolph  protested  truthfully,  yet  with  an  even  more  con 
vincing  color,  that  it  had  made  no  difference,  and  he  had 
liked  her.  The  captain  laughed.  "  Ay,  lad !  But  she  's 
a  poor  orphan,  with  scarcely  a  hundred  pounds  a  year,  who 
lives  with  her  guardian,  an  old  clergyman.  And  yet,"  he 
added  grimly,  "there  are  only  three  lives  between  her  and 
the  property  —  mine,  Bobby's,  and  Bill's  —  unless  he 
should  marry  and  have  an  heir. " 

"  The  more  reason  why  you  should  assert  yourself  and  do 
what  you  can  for  her  now,"  said  Randolph  eagerly. 

"Ay,"  returned  the  captain,  with  his  usual  laugh,  "  when 
she  was  a  child  I  used  to  call  her  my  little  sweetheart,  and 
gave  her  a  ring,  and  I  reckon  I  promised  to  marry  her,  too, 
when  she  grew  up." 

The  truthful  Randolph  would  have  told  him  of  Miss 
Eversleigh' s  gift,  but  unfortunately  he  felt  himself  again 
blushing,  and  fearful  lest  the  captain  would  misconstrue  his 
confusion,  he  said  nothing. 

Except  on  this  occasion,  the  captain  talked  with  Randolph 


TRENT'S  TRUST  67 

chiefly  of  his  later  past,  —  of  voyages  he  had  made,  of  places 
they  were  passing,  and  ports  they  visited.  He  spent  much 
of  the  time  with  the  officers,  and  even  the  crew,  over  whom 
he  seemed  to  exercise  a  singular  power,  and  with  whom  he 
exhibited  an  odd  freemasonry.  To  Randolph's  eyes  he  ap 
peared  to  grow  in  strength  and  stature  in  the  salt  breath  of 
the  sea,  and  although  he  was  uniformly  kind,  even  affection 
ate,  to  him,  he  was  brusque  to  the  other  passengers,  and  at 
times  even  with  his  friends  the  sailors.  Kandolph  sometimes 
wondered  how  he  would  treat  a  crew  of  his  own.  He  found 
some  answer  to  that  question  in  the  captain's  manner  to 
Jack  Eedhill,  the  abstractor  of  the  portmanteau,  and  his  old 
shipmate,  who  was  accompanying  the  captain  in  some  de 
pendent  capacity,  but  who  received  his  master's  confidences 
and  orders  with  respectful  devotion. 

It  was  a  cold,  foggy  morning,  nearly  two  months  later, 
that  they  landed  at  Plymouth.  The  English  coast  had  been 
a  vague  blank  all  night,  only  pierced,  long  hours  apart,  by 
dim  star- points  or  weird  yellow  beacon  flashes  against  the 
horizon.  And  this  vagueness  and  unreality  increased  on 
landing,  until  it  seemed  to  Kandolph  that  they  had  slipped 
into  a  land  of  dreams.  The  illusion  was  kept  up  as  they 
walked  in  the  weird  shadows  through  half-lit  streets  into  a 
murky  railway  station  throbbing  with  steam  and  sudden  an 
gry  flashes  in  the  darkness,  and  then  drew  away  into  what 
ought  to  have  been  the  open  country,  but  was  only  gray 
plains  of  mist  against  a  lost  horizon.  Sometimes  even  the 
vague  outlook  was  obliterated  by  passing  trains  coming  from 
nowhere  and  slipping  into  nothingness.  As  they  crept  along 
with  the  day,  without,  however,  any  lightening  of  the  opaque 
vault  overhead  to  mark  its  meridian,  there  came  at  times  a 
thinning  of  the  gray  wall  on  either  side  of  the  track,  show 
ing  the  vague  bulk  of  a  distant  hill,  the  battlemented  sky 
line  of  an  old-time  hall,  or  the  spires  of  a  cathedral,  but  al 
ways  melting  back  into  the  mist  again  as  in  a  dream.  Then 


68  TRENT'S  TRUST 

vague  stretches  of  gloom  again,  foggy  stations  obscured  by 
nebulous  light  and  blurred  and  moving  figures,  and  the  black 
relief  of  a  tunnel.  Only  once  the  captain,  catching  sight 
of  Randolph's  awed  face  under  the  lamp  of  the  smoking 
carriage,  gave  way  to  his  long,  low  laugh.  "Jolly  place, 
England  —  so  very  '  Merrie. ' '  And  then  they  came  to  a 
comparatively  lighter,  broader,  and  more  brilliantly  sig 
naled  tunnel  filled  with  people,  and  as  they  remained  in  it, 
Eandolph  was  told  it  was  London.  With  the  sensation  of 
being  only  half  awake,  he  was  guided  and  put  into  a  cab 
by  his  companion,  and  seemed  to  be  completely  roused  only 
at  the  hotel. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  Eandolph  should  first  go  down 
to  Chillingworth  rectory  and  call  on  Miss  Eversleigh,  and, 
without  disclosing  his  secret,  gather  the  latest  news  from 
Dornton  Hall,  only  a  few  miles  from  Chillingworth.  For 
this  purpose  he  had  telegraphed  to  her  that  evening,  and 
had  received  a  cordial  response.  The  next  morning  he  arose 
early,  and,  in  spite  of  the  gloom,  in  the  glow  of  his  youth 
ful  optimism  entered  the  bedroom  of  the  sleeping  Captain 
Dornton,  and  shook  him  by  the  shoulder  in  lieu  of  the  ac 
colade,  saying :  "  Eise,  Sir  John  Dornton !  " 

The  captain,  a  light  sleeper,  awoke  quickly.  "Thank 
you,  my  lad,  all  the  same,  though  I  don't  know  that  I  Jm 
quite  ready  yet  to  tumble  up  to  that  kind  of  piping. 
There  's  a  rotten  old  saying  in  the  family  that  only  once  in 
a  hundred  years  the  eldest  son  succeeds.  That 's  why  Bill 
was  so  cocksure,  I  reckon.  Well?" 

"In  an  hour  I  'm  off  to  Chillingworth  to  begin  the  cam 
paign,"  said  Eandolph  cheerily. 

"  Luck  to  you,  my  boy,  whatever  happens.  Clap  a  stop 
per  on  your  jaws,  though,  now  and  then.  I  'm  glad  you 
like  Sybby,  but  I  don't  want  you  to  like  her  so  much  as  to 
forget  yourself  and  give  me  away." 


TRENT'S  TRUST  69 

Half  an  hour  out  of  London  the  fog  grew  thinner,  break 
ing  into  lace-like  shreds  in  the  woods  as  the  train  sped  by, 
or  expanding  into  lustrous  tenuity  above  him.  Although 
the  trees  were  leafless,  there  was  some  recompense  in  the 
glimpses  their  bare  boughs  afforded  of  clustering  chimneys 
and  gables  nestling  in  ivy.  An  infinite  repose  had  been  laid 
upon  the  landscape  with  the  withdrawal  of  the  fog,  as  of  a 
veil  lifted  from  the  face  of  a  sleeper.  All  his  boyish  dreams 
of  the  mother  country  came  back  to  him  in  the  books  he  had 
read,  and  re-peopled  the  vast  silence.  Even  the  rotting 
leaves  that  lay  thick  in  the  crypt-like  woods  seemed  to  him 
the  dead  laurels  of  its  past  heroes  and  sages.  Quaint  old- 
time  villages,  thatched  roofs,  the  ever-recurring  square  tow 
ers  of  church  or  hall,  the  trim,  ordered  parks,  tiny  streams 
crossed  by  heavy  stone  bridges  much  too  large  for  them  — 
all  these  were  only  pages  of  those  books  whose  leaves  he 
seemed  to  be  turning  over.  Two  hours  of  this  fancy,  and 
then  the  train  stopped  at  a  station  within  a  mile  or  two  of 
a  bleak  headland,  a  beacon,  and  the  gray  wash  of  a  pewter- 
colored  sea,  where  a  hilly  village  street  climbed  to  a  Norman 
church  tower  and  the  ivied  gables  of  a  rectory. 

Miss  Eversleigh,  dignifiedly  tall,  but  youthfully  frank, 
as  he  remembered  her,  was  waiting  to  drive  him  in  a  pony 
trap  to  the  rectory.  A  little  pink,  with  suppressed  con 
sciousness  and  the  responsibilities  of  presenting  a  stranger 
guest  to  her  guardian,  she  seemed  to  Randolph  more  charm 
ing  than  ever. 

But  her  first  word  of  news  shocked  and  held  him  breath 
less.  Bobby,  the  little  orphan,  a  frail  exotic,  had  suc 
cumbed  to  the  Northern  winter.  A  cold  caught  in  New 
York  had  developed  into  pneumonia,  and  he  died  on  the 
passage.  Miss  Avondale,  although  she  had  received  marked 
attention  from  Sir  William,  returned  to  America  in  the 
same  ship. 

"I  really  don't  think  she  was  quite  as  devoted  to  the 


' 

70  TRENT'S  TRUST 

poor  child  as  all  that,  you  know, "  she  continued  with  inno 
cent  frankness,  "  and  Cousin  Bill  was  certainly  most  kind  to 
them  both,  yet  there  really  seemed  to  be  some  coolness  be 
tween  them  after  the  child's  death.  But,"  she  added  sud 
denly,  for  the  first  time  observing  her  companion's  evident 
distress,  and  coloring  in  confusion,  "  I  beg  your  pardon  — 
I  've  been  horribly  rude  and  heartless.  I  dare  say  the  poor 
boy  was  very  dear  to  you,  and  of  course  Miss  Avondale  was 
your  friend.  Please  forgive  me !  " 

Randolph,  intent  only  on  that  catastrophe  which  seemed 
to  wreck  all  Captain  Dornton's  hopes  and  blunt  his  only 
purpose  for  declaring  himself,  hurriedly  reassured  her,  yet 
was  not  sorry  his  agitation  had  been  misunderstood.  And 
what  was  to  be  done  ?  There  was  no  train  back  to  London 
for  four  hours.  He  dare  not  telegraph,  and  if  he  did,  could 
he  trust  to  his  strange  patron's  wise  conduct  under  the  first 
shock  of  this  news  to  his  present  vacillating  purpose  ?  He 
could  only  wait. 

Luckily  for  his  ungallant  abstraction,  they  were  speedily 
at  the  rectory,  where  a  warm  welcome  from  Mr.  Brunton, 
Sibyl's  guardian,  and  his  family  forced  him  to  recover  him 
self,  and  showed  him  that  the  story  of  his  devotion  to  John 
Dornton  had  suffered  nothing  from  Miss  Eversleigh's  recital. 
Distraught  and  anxious  as  he  was,  he  could  not  resist  the 
young  girl's  offer  after  luncheon  to  show  him  the  church 
with  the  vault  of  the  Dorntons  and  the  tablet  erected  to 
John  Dornton,  and,  later,  the  Hall,  only  two  miles  distant. 
But  here  Randolph  hesitated. 

"I  would  rather  not  call  on  Sir  William  to-day,"  he 
said. 

"You  need  not.  He  is  over  at  the  horse  show  at  Fern 
Dyke,  and  won't  be  back  till  late.  And  if  he  has  been  for 
gathering  with  his  boon  companions  he  won't  be  very  plea 
sant  company." 

"  Sibyl !  "  said  the  rector  in  good-humored  protest. 


TRENT'S  TRUST  71 

"Oh,  Mr.  Trent  has  had  a  little  of  Cousin  Bill's  convivial 
manners  before  now,"  said  the  young  girl  vivaciously,  "and 
isn't  shocked.  But  we  can  see  the  Hall  from  the  park  on 
our  way  to  the  station." 

Even  in  his  anxious  preoccupation  he  could  see  that  the 
church  itself  was  a  quaint  and  wonderful  preservation  of  the 
past.  For  four  centuries  it  had  been  sacred  to  the  tombs  of 
the  Dorntons  and  their  effigies  in  brass  and  marble,  yet,  as 
Randolph  glanced  at  the  stately  sarcophagus  of  the  unknown 
ticket  of  leave  man,  its  complacent  absurdity,  combined 
with  his  nervousness,  made  him  almost  hysterical.  Yet 
again,  it  seemed  to  him  that  something  of  the  mystery  and 
inviolability  of  the  past  now  invested  that  degraded  dust, 
and  it  would  be  an  equal  impiety  to  disturb  it.  Miss  Ever- 
sleigh,  again  believing  his  agitation  caused  by  the  memory 
of  his  old  patron,  tactfully  hurried  him  away.  Yet  it  was 
a  more  bitter  thought,  I  fear,  that  not  only  were  his  lips 
sealed  to  his  charming  companion  on  the  subject  in  which 
they  could  sympathize,  but  his  anxiety  prevented  him  from 
availing  himself  of  that  interview  to  exchange  the  lighter 
confidences  he  had  eagerly  looked  forward  to.  It  seemed 
cruel  that  he  was  debarred  this  chance  of  knitting  their 
friendship  closer  by  another  of  those  accidents  that  had 
brought  them  together.  And  he  was  aware  that  his  gloomy 
abstraction  was  noticed  by  her.  At  first  she  drew  herself 
up  in  a  certain  proud  reserve,  and  then,  perhaps,  his  own 
nervousness  infecting  her  in  turn,  he  was  at  last  terrified  to 
observe  thafc,  as  she  stood  before  the  tomb,  her  clear  gray 
eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Oh,  please  don't  do  that  —  there,  Miss  Eversleigh,"  he 
burst  out  impulsively. 

"I  was  thinking  of  Cousin  Jack,"  she  said,  a  little  star 
tled  at  his  abruptness.  "  Sometimes  it  seems  so  strange  that 
he  is  dead  —  I  scarcely  can  believe  it. " 

"I  meant,"  stammered  Randolph,  "that  he  is  much  hap- 


72  TRENT'S  TRUST 

pier  —  you  know  "  —  he  grew  almost  hysterical  again  as  he 
thought  of  the  captain  lying  cheerfully  in  his  bed  at  the 
hotel  —  "much  happier  than  you  or  I,"  he  added  bitterly; 
"  that  is  —  I  mean,  it  grieves  me  so  to  see  yon  grieve,  you 
know. " 

Miss  Eversleigh  did  not  know,  but  there  was  enough  sin 
cerity  and  real  feeling  in  the  young  fellow's  voice  and  eyes 
to  make  her  color  slightly  and  hurry  him  away  to  a  locality 
less  fraught  with  emotions.  In  a  few  moments  they  en 
tered  the  park,  and  the  old  Hall  rose  before  them.  It  was 
a  great  Tudor  house  of  mullioned  windows,  traceries,  and 
battlements;  of  stately  towers,  moss-grown  balustrades,  and 
statues  darkening  with  the  fog  that  was  already  hiding  the 
angles  and  wings  of  its  huge  bulk.  A  peacock  spread  its 
ostentatious  tail  on  the  broad  stone  steps  before  the  portal; 
a  flight  of  rooks  from  the  leafless  elms  rose  above  its  stacked 
and  twisted  chimneys.  After  all,  how  little  had  this  stately 
incarnation  of  the  vested  rights  and  sacred  tenures  of  the 
past  in  common  with  the  laughing  rover  he  had  left  in  Lon 
don  that  morning!  And  thinking  of  the  destinies  that  the 
captain  held  so  lightly  in  his  hand,  and  perhaps  not  a  little 
of  the  absurdity  of  his  own  position  to  the  confiding  young 
girl  beside  him,  for  a  moment  he  half  hated  him. 

The  fog  deepened  as  they  reached  the  station,  and,  as  it 
seemed  to  Randolph,  made  their  parting  still  more  vague 
and  indefinite,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  he  could  re 
spond  to  the  young  girl's  frank  hope  that  he  would  soon 
return  to  them.  Yet  he  half  resolved  that  he  would  not 
until  he  could  tell  her  all. 

Nevertheless,  as  the  train  crept  more  and  more  slowly, 
with  halting  signals,  toward  London,  he  buoyed  himself  up 
with  the  hope  that  Captain  Dornton  would  still  try  conclu 
sions  for  his  patrimony,  or  at  least  come  to  some  compromise 
by  which  he  might  be  restored  to  his  rank  and  name.  But 
upon  these  hopes  the  vision  of  that  great  house  settted  firmly 


TRENT'S  TRUST  73 

upon  its  lands,  held  there  in  perpetuity  by  the  dead  and 
stretched-out  hands  of  those  that  lay  beneath  its  soil,  always 
obtruded  itself.  Then  the  fog  deepened,  and  the  crawling 
train  came  to  a  dead  stop  at  the  next  station.  The  whole 
line  was  blocked.  Four  precious  hours  were  hopelessly 
lost. 

Yet  despite  his  impatience,  he  reentered  London  with  the 
same  dazed  semi-consciousness  of  feeling  as  on  the  night  he 
had  first  arrived.  There  seemed  to  have  been  no  interim; 
his  visit  to  the  rectory  and  Hall,  and  even  his  fateful  news, 
were  only  a  dream.  He  drove  through  the  same  shadow  to 
the  hotel,  was  received  by  the  same  halo-encircled  lights 
that  had  never  been  put  out.  After  glancing  through  the 
halls  and  reading  room  he  hurriedly  made  his  way  to  his 
companion's  room.  The  captain  was  not  there.  He  quickly 
summoned  the  waiter.  The  gentleman  1  Yes ;  Captain 
Dornton  had  left  with  his  servant,  Redhill,  a  few  hours 
after  Mr.  Trent  went  away.  He  had  left  no  message. 

Again  condemned  to  wait  in  inactivity,  Randolph  tried  to 
resist  a  certain  uneasiness  that  was  creeping  over  him,  by 
attributing  the  captain's  absence  to  some  unexpected  legal 
consultation  or  the  gathering  of  evidence,  his  prolonged  de 
tention  being  due  to  the  same  fog  that  had  delayed  his  own 
train.  But  he  was  somewhat  surprised  to  find  that  the  cap 
tain  had  ordered  his  luggage  into  the  porter's  care  in  the 
hall  below  before  leaving,  and  that  nothing  remained  in  his 
room  but  a  few  toilet  articles  and  the  fateful  portmanteau. 
The  hours  passed  slowly.  Owing  to  that  perpetual  twilight 
in  which  he  had  passed  the  day,  there  seemed  no  perceptible 
flight  of  time,  and  at  eleven  o'clock,  the  captain  not  arriv 
ing,  he  determined  to  wait  in  the  latter's  room  so  as  to  be 
sure  not  to  miss  him.  Twelve  o'clock  boomed  from  an  ad 
jacent  invisible  steeple,  but  still  he  came  not.  Overcome 
by  the  fatigue  and  excitement  of  the  day,  Randolph  con 
cluded  to  lie  down  in  his  clothes  on  the  captain's  bed,  not 


74  TRENT'S  TRUST 

without  a  superstitious  and  uncomfortable  recollection  of 
that  night,  about  a  year  before,  when  he  had  awaited  him 
vainly  at  the  San  Francisco  hotel.  Even  the  fateful  port 
manteau  was  there  to  assist  his  gloomy  fancy.  Neverthe 
less,  with  the  boom  of  one  o'clock  in  his  drowsy  ears  as  his 
last  coherent  recollection,  he  sank  into  a  dreamless  sleep. 

He  was  awakened  by  a  tapping  at  his  door,  and  jumped 
up  to  realize  by  his  watch  and  the  still  burning  gaslight  that 
it  was  nine  o'clock.  But  the  intruder  was  only  a  waiter 
with  a  letter  which  he  had  brought  to  Randolph's  room  in 
obedience  to  the  instructions  the  latter  had  given  overnight. 
Not  doubting  it  was  from  the  captain,  although  the  hand 
writing  of  the  address  was  unfamiliar,  he  eagerly  broke  the 
seal.  But  he  was  surprised  to  read  as  follows :  — 

DEAR  MR.  TRENT,  —  We  had  such  sad  news  from  the 
Hall  after  you  left.  Sir  William  was  seized  with  a  kind  of 
fit.  It  appears  that  he  had  just  returned  from  the  horse 
show,  and  had  given  his  mare  to  the  groom  while  he  walked 
to  the  garden  entrance.  The  groom  saw  him  turn  at  the 
yew  hedge,  and  was  driving  to  the  stables  when  he  heard 
a  queer  kind  of  cry,  and  turning  back  to  the  garden  front, 
found  poor  Sir  William  lying  on  the  ground  in  convulsions. 
The  doctor  was  sent  for,  and  Mr.  Brunton  and  I  went  over 
to  the  Hall.  The  doctor  thinks  it  was  something  like  a 
stroke,  but  he  is  not  certain,  and  Sir  William  is  quite  delir 
ious,  and  does  n't  recognize  anybody.  I  gathered  from  the 
groom  that  he  had  been  drinking  heavily.  Perhaps  it  was 
well  that  you  did  not  see  him,  but  I  thought  you  ought  to 
know  what  had  happened  in  case  you  came  down  again. 
It 's  all  very  dreadful,  and  I  wonder  if  that  is  why  I  was  so 
nervous  all  the  afternoon.  It  may  have  been  a  kind  of  pre 
sentiment.  Don't  you  think  so? 

Yours  faithfully, 

SIBYL  EVERSLEIGH. 


TRENT'S  TRUST  75 

I  am  afraid  Randolph  thought  more  of  the  simple-minded 
girl  who,  in  the  midst  of  her  excitement,  turned  to  him  half 
unconsciously,  than  he  did  of  Sir  William.  Had  it  not  been 
for  the  necessity  of  seeing  the  captain,  he  would  probably 
have  taken  the  next  train  to  the  rectory.  Perhaps  he  might 
later.  He  thought  little  of  Sir  William's  illness,  and  was 
inclined  to  accept  the  young  girl's  naive  suggestion  of  its 
cause.  He  read  and  reread  the  letter,  staring  at  the  large, 
grave,  childlike  handwriting  —  so  like  herself  —  and  obey 
ing  a  sudden  impulse,  raised  the  signature,  as  gravely  as  if 
it  had  been  her  hand,  to  his  lips. 

Still  the  day  advanced  and  the  captain  came  not.  Ran 
dolph  found  the  inactivity  insupportable.  He  knew  not 
where  to  seek  him ;  he  had  no  more  clue  to  his  resorts  or  his 
friends  —  if,  indeed,  he  had  any  in  London  —  than  he  had 
after  their  memorable  first  meeting  in  San  Francisco.  He 
might,  indeed,  be  the  dupe  of  an  impostor,  who,  at  the 
eleventh  hour,  had  turned  craven  and  fled.  He  might  be, 
in  the  captain's  indifference,  a  mere  instrument  set  aside  at 
his  pleasure.  Yet  he  could  take  advantage  of  Miss  Ever- 
sleigh's  letter  and  seek  her,  and  confess  everything,  and  ask 
her  advice.  It  was  a  great  and  at  the  moment  it  seemed 
to  him  an  overwhelming  temptation.  But  only  for  the 
moment.  He  had  given  his  word  to  the  captain  —  more, 
he  had  given  his  youthful  faith.  And,  to  his  credit,  he 
never  swerved  again.  It  seemed  to  him,  too,  in  his  youth 
ful  superstition,  as  he  looked  at  the  abandoned  portmanteau, 
that  he  had  again  to  take  up  his  burden  —  his  "trust." 

It  was  nearly  four  o'clock  when  the  spell  was  broken.  A 
large  packet,  bearing  the  printed  address  of  a  London  and 
American  bank,  was  brought  to  him  by  a  special  messenger; 
but  the  written  direction  was  in  the  captain's  hand.  Ran 
dolph  tore  it  open.  It  contained  one  or  two  inclosures, 
which  he  hastily  put  aside  for  the  letter,  two  pages  of  fools 
cap,  which  he  read  breathlessly :  — 


76  TRENT'S  TRUST 

DEAR  TRENT,  — Don't  worry  your  head  if  I  have  slipped 
my  cable  without  telling  you.  I  'm  all  right,  only  I  got  the 
news  you  are  bringing  me,  just  after  you  left,  by  Jack 
Redhill,  whom  I  had  sent  to  Dornton  Hall  to  see  how  the 
land  lay  the  night  before.  It  was  not  that  I  did  n't  trust 
you,  but  he  had  ways  of  getting  news  that  you  would  n't 
stoop  to.  You  can  guess,  from  what  I  have  told  you  already, 
that,  now  Bobby  is  gone,  there  's  nothing  to  keep  me  here, 
and  I  'm  following  my  own  idea  of  letting  the  whole  blasted 
thing  slide.  I  only  worked  this  racket  for  the  sake  of  him. 
I  'm  sorry  for  him,  but  I  suppose  the  poor  little  beggar 
couldn't  stand  these  sunless,  God-forsaken  longitudes  any 
more  than  I  could.  Besides  that,  as  I  did  n't  want  to  trust 
any  lawyer  with  my  secret,  I  myself  had  hunted  up  some 
books  on  the  matter,  and  found  that,  by  the  law  of  entail, 
I  'd  have  to  rip  up  the  whole  blessed  thing,  and  Bill  would 
have  had  to  pay  back  every  blessed  cent  of  what  rents  he 
had  collected  since  he  took  hold  —  not  to  me,  but  the  estate 
—  with  interest,  and  that  no  arrangement  /could  make  with 
him  would  be  legal  on  account  of  the  boy.  At  least,  that 's 
the  way  the  thing  seemed  to  pan  out  to  me.  So  that  when 
I  heard  of  Bobby's  death  I  was  glad  to  jump  the  rest,  and 
that 's  what  I  made  up  my  mind  to  do. 

But,  like  a  blasted  lubber,  now  that  I  could  do  it  and 
cut  right  away,  I  must  needs  think  that  I  'd  like  first  to  see 
Bill  on  the  sly,  without  letting  on  to  any  one  else,  and  tell 
him  what  I  was  going  to  do.  I  'd  no  fear  that  he  'd  object, 
or  that  he  'd  hesitate  a  minute  to  fall  in  with  my  plan  of 
dropping  my  name  and  my  game,  and  giving  him  full  swing, 
while  I  stood  out  to  sea  and  the  South  Pacific,  and  dropped 
out  of  his  mess  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  Perhaps  I  wanted 
to  set  his  mind  at  rest,  if  he  'd  ever  had  any  doubts;  perhaps 

I  wanted  to  have  a  little  fun  out  of  him  for  his  d d  pre- 

viousness;  perhaps,  lad,  I  had  a  hankering  to  see  the  old 
place  for  the  last  time.  At  any  rate,  I  allowed*  to  go  to 


TRENT'S  TRUST  77 

Dornton  Hall.  I  timed  myself  to  get  there  about  the  hour 
you  left,  to  keep  out  of  sight  until  I  knew  he  was  returning 
from  the  horse  show,  and  to  waylay  him  alone  and  have  our 
little  talk  without  witnesses.  I  dare  n't  go  to  the  Hall,  for 
some  of  the  old  servants  might  recognize  me. 

I  went  down  there  with  Jack  Redhill,  and  we  separated 
at  the  station.  I  hung  around  in  the  fog.  I  even  saw  you 
pass  with  Sibyl  in  the  dogcart,  but  you  didn't  see  me.  I 
knew  the  place,  and  just  where  to  hide  where  I  could  have 
the  chance  of  seeing  him  alone.  But  it  was  a  beastly  job 

waiting  there.  I  felt  like  a  d d  thief  instead  of  a  man 

who  was  simply  visiting  his  own.  Yet,  you  may  n't  believe 
me,  lad,  but  I  hated  the  place  and  all  it  meant  more  than 
ever.  Then,  by  and  by,  I  heard  him  coming.  I  had 
arranged  it  all  with  myself  to  get  into  the  yew  hedge,  and 
step  out  as  he  came  to  the  garden  entrance,  and  as  soon  as 
he  recognized  me  to  get  him  round  the  terrace  into  the  sum 
mer  house,  where  we  could  speak  without  danger. 

I  heard  the  groom  drive  away  to  the  stable  with  the  cart, 
and,  sure  enough,  in  a  minute  he  came  lurching  along  toward 
the  garden  door.  He  was  mighty  unsteady  on  his  pins,  and 
I  reckon  he  was  more  than  half  full,  which  was  a  bad  look 
out  for  our  confab.  But  I  calculated  that  the  sight  of  me, 

when  I  slipped  out,  would  sober  him.  And,  by ,  it  did ! 

For  his  eyes  bulged  out  of  his  head  and  got  fixed  there;  his 
jaw  dropped;  he  tried  to  strike  at  me  with  a  hunting  crop 
he  was  carrying,  and  then  he  uttered  an  ungodly  yell  you 
might  have  heard  at  the  station,  and  dropped  down  in  his 
tracks.  I  had  just  time  to  slip  back  into  the  hedge  again 
before  the  groom  came  driving  back,  and  then  all  hands  were 
piped,  and  they  took  him  into  the  house. 

And  of  course  the  game  was  up,  and  I  lost  my  only 
chance.  I  was  thankful  enough  to  get  clean  away  without 
discovering  myself,  and  I  have  to  trust  now  to  the  fact  of 
Bill's  being  drunk,  and  thinking  it  was  my  ghost  that  he 


78  TRENT'S  TRUST 

saw,  in  a  touch  of  the  jimjams!  And  I'm  not  sorry  to 
have  given  him  that  start,  for  there  was  that  in  his  eye,  and 
that  in  the  stroke  he  made,  my  lad,  that  showed  a  guilty 
conscience  I  had  n't  reckoned  on.  And  it  cured  me  of  my 
wish  to  set  his  mind  at  ease.  He  's  welcome  to  all  the 
rest. 

And  that 's  why  I  'm  going  away  —  never  to  return.  I  'm 
sorry  I  could  n't  take  you  with  me,  but  it 's  better  that  I 
should  n't  see  you  again,  and  that  you  did  n't  even  know 
where  I  was  gone.  When  you  get  this  I  shall  be  on  blue 
water  and  heading  for  the  sunshine.  You  '11  find  two  letters 
inclosed.  One  you  need  not  open  unless  you  hear  that  my 
secret  was  blown,  and  you  are  ever  called  upon  to  explain 
your  relations  with  me.  The  other  is  my  thanks,  my  lad, 
in  a  letter  of  credit  on  the  bank,  for  the  way  you  have  kept 
your  trust,  and  I  believe  will  continue  to  keep  it,  to 

JOHN  DORNTON. 

P.  S.  I  hope  you  dropped  a  tear  over  my  swell  tomb 
at  Dornton  Church.  All  the  same,  I  don't  begrudge  it  to 
the  poor  devil  who  lost  his  life  instead  of  me. 

J.  D. 

As  Eandolph  read,  he  seemed  to  hear  the  captain's  voice 
throughout  the  letter,  and  even  his  low,  characteristic  laugh 
in  the  postscript.  Then  he  suddenly  remembered  the  lug 
gage  which  the  porter  had  said  the  captain  had  ordered  to 
be  taken  below ;  but  on  asking  that  functionary  he  was  told 
a  conveyance  for  the  Victoria  Docks  had  called  with  an  or 
der,  and  taken  it  away  at  daybreak.  It  was  evident  that 
the  captain  had  intended  the  letter  should  be  his  only  fare 
well.  Depressed  and  a  little  hurt  at  his  patron's  abruptness, 
Randolph  returned  to  his  room.  Opening  the  letter  of 
credit,  he  found  it  was  for  a  thousand  pounds  —  a  munifi 
cent  beneficence,  as  it  seemed  to  Randolph,  for  his  dubious 
services,  and  a  proof  of  his  patron's  frequent  declarations 


TRENT'S  TRUST  79 

that  he  had  money  enough  without  touching  the  Dornton 
estates. 

For  a  long  time  he  sat  with  these  sole  evidences  of  the 
reality  of  his  experience  in  his  hands,  a  prey  to  a  thousand 
surmises  and  conflicting  thoughts.  Was  he  the  self-deceived 
disciple  of  a  visionary,  a  generous,  unselfish,  but  weak  man, 
whose  eccentricity  passed  even  the  bounds  of  reason  ?  Who 
would  believe  the  captain's  story  or  the  captain's  motives? 
Who  comprehend  his  strange  quest  and  its  stranger  and 
almost  ridiculous  termination  ?  Even  if  the  seal  of  secrecy 
were  removed  in  after  years,  what  had  he,  Eandolph,  to 
show  in  corroboration  of  his  patron's  claim? 

Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  there  was  no  reason  why  he 
should  not  go  down  to  the  rectory  and  see  Miss  Eversleigh 
again  under  pretense  of  inquiring  after  the  luckless  baronet, 
whose  title  and  fortune  had,  nevertheless,  been  so  strangely 
preserved.  He  began  at  once  his  preparations  for  the  jour 
ney,  and  was  nearly  ready  when  a  servant  entered  with  a 
telegram.  Randolph's  heart  leaped.  The  captain  had  sent 
him  news  —  perhaps  had  changed  his  mind!  He  tore  off 
the  yellow  cover,  and  read,  — 

Sir  William  died  at  twelve  o'clock  without  recovering 
consciousness.  S.  EVERSLEIGH. 

VI 

For  a  moment  Randolph  gazed  at  the  dispatch  with  a 
half- hysterical  laugh,  and  then  became  as  suddenly  sane  and 
cool.  One  thought  alone  was  uppermost  in  his  mind:  the 
captain  could  not  have  heard  this  news  yet,  and  if  he  was 
still  within  reach,  or  accessible  by  any  means  whatever,  how 
ever  determined  his  purpose,  he  must  know  it  at  once.  The 
only  clue  to  his  whereabouts  was  the  Victoria  Docks.  But 
that  was  something.  In  another  moment  Randolph  was  in 
the  lower  hall,  had  learned  the  quickest  way  of  reaching  the 
docks,  and  plunged  into  the  street. 


80  TRENT'S  TRUST 

The  fog  here  swooped  down,  and  to  the  embarrassment  of 
his  mind  was  added  the  obscurity  of  light  and  distance, 
which  halted  him  after  a  few  hurried  steps,  in  utter  per 
plexity.  Indistinct  figures  were  here  and  there  approaching 
him  out  of  nothingness  and  melting  away  again  into  the 
greenish  gray  chaos.  He  was  in  a  busy  thoroughfare;  he 
could  hear  the  slow  trample  of  hoofs,  the  dull  crawling  of 
vehicles,  and  the  warning  outcries  of  a  traffic  he  could  not 
see.  Trusting  rather  to  his  own  speed  than  that  of  a  halt 
ing  conveyance,  he  blundered  on  until  he  reached  the  rail 
way  station.  A  short  but  exasperating  journey  of  impulses 
and  hesitations,  of  detonating  signals  and  warning  whistles, 
and  he  at  last  stood  on  the  docks,  beyond  him  a  vague  bulk 
or  two,  and  a  soft,  opaque  flowing  wall  —  the  river ! 

But  one  steamer  had  left  that  day  —  the  Dom  Pedro,  for 
the  River  Plate  —  two  hours  before,  but  until  the  fog  thick 
ened,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,  she  could  be  seen,  so  his  in 
formant  said,  still  lying,  with  steam  up,  in  midstream.  Yes, 
it  was  still  possible  to  board  her.  But  even  as  the  boatman 
spoke,  and  was  leading  the  way  toward  the  landing  steps, 
the  fog  suddenly  lightened;  a  soft  salt  breath  stole  in  from 
the  distant  sea,  and  a  veil  seemed  to  be  lifted  from  the  face 
of  the  gray  waters.  The  outlines  of  the  two  shores  came 
back;  the  spars  of  nearer  vessels  showed  distinctly,  but  the 
space  where  the  huge  hulk  had  rested  was  empty  and  void. 
There  was  a  trail  of  something  darker  and  more  opaque  than 
fog  itself  lying  near  the  surface  of  the  water,  but  the  Dom 
Pedro  was  a  mere  speck  in  the  broadening  distance. 

A  bright  sun  and  a  keen  easterly  wind  were  revealing  the 
curling  ridges  of  the  sea  beyond  the  headland  when  Ran 
dolph  again  passed  the  gates  of  Dornton  Hall  on  his  way  to 
the  rectory.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  he  was  able  to  see 
clearly  the  outlines  of  that  spot  which  had  seemed  to  him 
only  a  misty  dream,  and  even  in  his  preoccupation  he  was 


TRENT'S  TRUST  81 

struck  by  its  grave  beauty.  The  leafless  limes  and  elms  in 
the  park  grouped  themselves  as  part  of  the  picturesque  de 
tails  of  the  Hall  they  encompassed,  and  the  evergreen  slope 
of  firs  and  larches  rose  as  a  background  to  the  gray  battle 
ments,  covered  with  dark  green  ivy,  whose  rich  shadows 
were  brought  out  by  the  unwonted  sunshine.  With  a  half- 
repugnant  curiosity  he  had  tried  to  identify  the  garden  en 
trance  and  the  fateful  yew  hedge  the  captain  had  spoken  of 
as  he  passed.  But  as  quickly  he  fell  back  upon  the  resolu 
tion  he  had  taken  in  coming  there  —  to  dissociate  his  secret, 
his  experience,  and  his  responsibility  to  his  patron  from  his 
relations  to  Sibyl  Eversleigh;  to  enjoy  her  companionship 
without  an  obtruding  thought  of  the  strange  circumstances 
that  had  brought  them  together  at  first,  or  the  stranger  for 
tune  that  had  later  renewed  their  acquaintance.  He  had 
resolved  to  think  of  her  as  if  she  had  merely  passed  into  his 
life  in  the  casual  ways  of  society,  with  only  her  personal 
charms  to  set  her  apart  from  others.  Why  should  his  ex 
clusive  possession  of  a  secret  —  which,  even  if  confided  to 
her,  would  only  give  her  needless  and  hopeless  anxiety  — 
debar  them  from  an  exchange  of  those  other  confidences  of 
youth  and  sympathy  ?  Why  could  he  not  love  her  and  yet 
withhold  from  her  the  knowledge  of  her  cousin's  existence  ? 
So  he  had  determined  to  make  the  most  of  his  opportunity 
during  his  brief  holiday ;  to  avail  himself  of  her  na'ive  invi 
tation,  and  even  of  what  he  dared  sometimes  to  think  was 
her  predilection  for  his  companionship.  And  if,  before  he 
left,  he  had  acquired  a  right  to  look  forward  to  a  time  when 
her  future  and  his  should  be  one  —  but  here  his  glowing 
fancy  was  abruptly  checked  by  his  arrival  at  the  rectory 
door. 

Mr.  Brunton  received  him  cordially,  yet  with  a  slight 
business  preoccupation  and  a  certain  air  of  importance  that 
struck  him  as  peculiar.  Sibyl,  he  informed  him,  was  en 
gaged  at  that  moment  with  some  friends  who  had  come  over 


82  TRENT'S  TRUST 

from  the  Hall.  Mr.  Trent  would  understand  that  there  was 
a  great  deal  for  her  to  do  —  in  her  present  position.  Won 
dering  why  she  should  be  selected  to  do  it  instead  of  older 
and  more  experienced  persons,  Randolph,  however,  con 
tented  himself  with  inquiries  regarding  the  details  of  Sir 
William's  seizure  and  death.  He  learned,  as  he  expected, 
that  nothing  whatever  was  known  of  the  captain's  visit, 
nor  was  there  the  least  suspicion  that  the  baronet's  attack 
was  the  result  of  any  predisposing  emotion.  Indeed,  it 
seemed  more  possible  that  his  medical  attendants,  knowing 
something  of  his  late  excesses  and  their  effect  upon  his  con 
stitution,  preferred,  for  the  sake  of  avoiding  scandal,  to 
attribute  the  attack  to  long-standing  organic  disease. 

Randolph,  who  had  already  determined,  as  a  forlorn  hope, 
to  write  a  cautious  letter  to  the  captain  (informing  him 
briefly  of  the  news  without  betraying  his  secret,  and  directed 
to  the  care  of  the  consignees  of  the  Dom  Pedro  in  Brazil, 
by  the  next  post),  was  glad  to  be  able  to  add  this  medical 
opinion  to  relieve  his  patron's  mind  of  any  fear  of  having 
hastened  his  brother's  death  by  his  innocent  appearance. 
But  here  the  entrance  of  Sibyl  Eversleigh  with  her  friends 
drove  all  else  from  his  mind. 

She  looked  so  tall  and  graceful  in  her  black  dress,  which 
set  off  her  dazzling  skin,  and,  with  her  youthful  gravity, 
gave  to  her  figure  the  charming  maturity  of  a  young  widow, 
that  he  was  for  a  moment  awed  and  embarrassed.  But  he 
experienced  a  relief  when  she  came  eagerly  toward  him  in 
all  her  old  girlish  frankness,  and  with  even  something  of 
yearning  expectation  in  her  gray  eyes. 

"It  was  so  good  of  you  to  come,"  she  said.  "I  thought 
you  would  imagine  how  I  was  feeling  "  —  She  stopped,  as 
if  she  were  conscious,  as  Randolph  was,  of  a  certain  chill  of 
unresponsiveness  in  the  company,  and  said  in  an  undertone, 
"Wait  until  we  are  alone."  Then,  turning  with  a  slight 
color  and  a  pretty  dignity  toward  her  friends,  sh?  contin- 


TRENT'S  TRUST  83 

ued:   "Lady  Ashbrook,  this  is  Mr.  Trent,  an  old  friend  of 
both  my  cousins  when  they  were  in  America. " 

In  spite  of  the  gracious  response  of  the  ladies,  Randolph 
was  aware  of  their  critical  scrutiny  of  both  himself  and  Miss 
Eversleigh,  of  the  exchange  of  significant  glances,  and  a 
certain  stiffness  in  her  guardian's  manner.  It  was  quite 
enough  to  affect  Randolph's  sensitiveness  and  bring  out  his 
own  reserve. 

Fancying,  however,  that  his  reticence  disturbed  Miss 
Eversleigh,  he  forced  himself  to  converse  with  Lady  Ash- 
brook  —  avoiding  many  of  her  pointed  queries  as  to  himself, 
his  acquaintance  with  Sibyl,  and  the  length  of  time  he  ex 
pected  to  stay  in  England  —  and  even  accompanied  her  to 
her  carriage.  And  here  he  was  rewarded  by  Sibyl  running 
out  with  a  crape  veil  twisted  round  her  throat  and  head, 
and  the  usual  femininely  forgotten  final  message  to  her  vis 
itor.  As  the  carriage  drove  away,  she  turned  to  Randolph, 
and  said  quickly,  — 

"Let  us  go  in  by  way  of  the  garden." 

It  was  a  slight  detour,  but  it  gave  them  a  few  moments 
alone. 

"  It  was  so  awful  and  sudden, "  she  said,  looking  gravely 
at  Randolph,  "  and  to  think  that  only  an  hour  before  I  had 
been  saying  unkind  things  of  him !  Of  course, "  she  added 
naively,  "they  were  true,  and  the  groom  admitted  to  me 
that  the  mare  was  overdriven  and  Sir  William  could  hardly 
stand.  And  only  to  think  of  it!  he  never  recovered  com 
plete  consciousness,  but  muttered  incoherently  all  the  time. 
I  was  with  him  to  the  last,  and  he  never  said  a  word  I  could 
understand  —  only  once. " 

"  What  did  he  say  ? "  asked  Randolph  uneasily. 

"I  don't  like  to  say  —  it  was  too  dreadful!" 

Randolph  did  not  press  her.  Yet,  after  a  pause,  she  said 
in  a  low  voice,  with  a  naivete  impossible  to  describe,  "  It 
was,  '  Jack,  damn  you ! '  " 


84  TRENT'S  TRUST 

He  did  not  dare  to  look  at  her,  even  with  this  grim 
mingling  of  farce  and  tragedy  which  seemed  to  invest  every 
scene  of  that  sordid  drama.  Miss  Eversleigh  continued 
gravely:  "The  groom's  name  was  Robert,  but  Jack  might 
have  been  the  name  of  one  of  his  boon  companions." 

Convinced  that  she  suspected  nothing,  yet  in  the  hope  of 
changing  the  subject,  Randolph  said  quietly:  "I  thought 
your  guardian  perhaps  a  little  less  frank  and  communicative 
to-day." 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  girl  suddenly,  with  a  certain  im 
patience,  and  yet  in  half  apology  to  her  companion,  "of 
course.  He  —  they  —  all  and  everybody  —  are  much  more 
concerned  and  anxious  about  my  new  position  than  I  am. 
It's  perfectly  dreadful  —  this  thinking  of  it  all  the  time, 
arranging  everything,  criticising  everything  in  reference  to 
it,  and  the  poor  man  who  is  the  cause  of  it  all  not  yet  at 
rest  in  his  grave !  The  whole  thing  is  inhuman  and  un 
christian  ! " 

"I  don't  understand,"  stammered  Randolph  vaguely. 
11  What  is  your  new  position  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

The  girl  looked  up  in  his  face  with  surprise.  "Why, 
did  n't  you  know  ?  I'm  the  next  of  kin  —  I'm  the  heiress 
—  and  will  succeed  to  the  property  in  six  months,  when  I 
am  of  age." 

In  a  flash  of  recollection  Randolph  suddenly  recalled  the 
captain's  words,  "There  are  only  three  lives  between  her 
and  the  property."  Their  meaning  had  barely  touched  his 
comprehension  before.  She  was  the  heiress.  Yes,  save  for 
the  captain! 

She  saw  the  change,  the  wonder,  even  the  dismay,  in  his 
face,  and  her  own  brightened  frankly.  "It's  so  good  to 
find  one  who  never  thought  of  it,  who  had  n't  it  before  him 
as  the  chief  end  for  which  I  was  born !  Yes,  I  was  the 
next  of  kin  after  dear  Jack  died  and  Bill  succeeded,  but 
there  was  every  chance  that  he  would  marry  arTd  have  an 


TRENT'S  TRUST  85 

heir.  And  yet  the  moment  he  was  taken  ill  that  idea  was 
uppermost  in  my  guardian's  mind,  good  man  as  he  is,  and 
even  forced  upon  me.  If  this  —  this  property  had  come 
from  poor  Cousin  Jack,  whom  I  loved,  there  would  have 
been  something  dear  in  it  as  a  memory  or  a  gift,  but  from 
him,  whom  I  couldn't  bear  —  I  know  it 's  wicked  to  talk 
that  way,  but  it 's  simply  dreadful!  " 

"And  yet,"  said  Randolph,  with  a  sudden  seriousness  he 
could  not  control,  "I  honestly  believe  that  Captain  Dornton 
would  be  perfectly  happy  —  yes,  rejoiced !  —  if  he  knew  the 
property  had  come  to  you." 

There  was  such  an  air  of  conviction,  and,  it  seemed  to 
the  simple  girl,  even  of  spiritual  insight,  in  his  manner  that 
her  clear,  handsome  eyes  rested  wonderingly  on  his. 

" Do  you  really  think  so  ?  "  she  said  thoughtfully.  "And 
yet  he  knows  that  I  am  like  him.  Yes,"  she  continued, 
answering  Randolph's  look  of  surprise,  "I  am  just  like  him, 
in  that.  /  loathe  and  despise  the  life  that  this  thing  would 
condemn  me  to;  /  hate  all  that  it  means,  and  all  that  it 
binds  me  to,  as  he  used  to  ;  and  if  I  could,  /  would  cut  and 
run  from  it  as  he  did." 

She  spoke  with  a  determined  earnestness  and  warmth,  so 
unlike  her  usual  grave  naivete  that  he  was  astonished.  There 
was  a  flush  on  her  cheek  and  a  frank  fire  in  her  eye  that  re 
minded  him  strangely  of  the  captain;  and  yet  she  had  em 
phasized  her  words  with  a  little  stamp  of  her  narrow  foot 
and  a  gesture  of  her  hand  that  was  so  untrained  and  girlish 
that  he  smiled,  and  said,  with  perhaps  the  least  touch  of 
bitterness  in  his  tone,  "But  you  will  get  over  that  when 
you  come  into  the  property." 

"I  suppose  I  shall,"  she  returned,  with  an  odd  lapse  to 
her  former  gravity  and  submissiveness.  "That's  what 
they  all  tell  me." 

"You  will  be  independent  and  your  own  mistress,"  he 
added. 


86  TRENT'S  TRUST 

"Independent,"  she  repeated  impatiently,  "with  Dorn- 
ton  Hall  and  twenty  thousand  a  year !  Independent,  with 
every  duty  marked  out  for  me !  Independent,  with  every 
one  to  criticise  my  smallest  actions  —  every  one  who  would 
never  have  given  a  thought  to  the  orph'an  who  was  con 
tented  and  made  her  own  friends  on  a  hundred  a  year!  Of 
course  you,  who  are  a  stranger,  don't  understand;  yet  I 
thought  that  you"  —  she  hesitated, — "would  have  thought 
differently." 

"Why?" 

"Why,  with  your  belief  that  one  should  make  one's  own 
fortune,"  she  said. 

"That  would  do  for  a  man,  and  in  that  I  respected  Cap 
tain  Dornton's  convictions,  as  you  told  them  to  me.  But 
for  a  girl,  how  could  she  be  independent,  except  with 
money  ? " 

She  shook  her  head  as  if  unconvinced,  but  did  not  reply. 
They  were  nearing  the  garden  porch,  when  she  looked  up, 
and  said:  "And  as  you  're  a  man,  you  will  be  making  your 
way  in  the  world.  Mr.  Dingwall  said  you  would." 

There  was  something  so  childishly  trustful  and  confident 
in  her  assurance  that  he  smiled.  "  Mr.  Dingwall  is  too  san 
guine,  but  it  gives  me  hope  to  hear  you  say  so." 

She  colored  slightly,  and  said  gravely:  "We  must  go  in 
now."  Yet  she  lingered  for  a  moment  before  the  door. 
For  a  long  time  afterward  he  had  a  very  vivid  recollection 
of  her  charming  face,  in  its  childlike  gravity  and  its  quaint 
frame  of  black  crape,  standing  out  against  the  sunset- warmed 
wall  of  the  rectory.  "Promise  me  you  will  not  mind  what 
these  people  say  or  do,"  she  said  suddenly. 

"I  promise,"  he  returned,  with  a  smile,  "to  mind  only 
what  you  say  or  do." 

"But  I  might  not  be  always  quite  right,  you  know,"  she 
said  naively. 

"I'll  risk  that." 


TRENT'S  TRUST  87 

"Then,  when  we  go  in  now,  don't  talk  much  to  me,  but 
make  yourself  agreeable  to  all  the  others,  and  then  go 
straight  home  to  the  inn,  and  don't  come  here  until  after 
the  funeral." 

The  faintest  evasive  glint  of  mischievousness  in  her  with 
drawn  eyes  at  this  moment  mitigated  the  austerity  of  her 
command  as  they  both  passed  in. 

Kandolph  had  intended  not  to  return  to  London  until 
after  the  funeral,  two  days  later,  and  spent  the  interesting 
day  at  the  neighboring  town,  whence  he  dispatched  his  ex 
ploring  and  perhaps  hopeless  letter  to  the  captain.  The 
funeral  was  a  large  and  imposing  one,  and  impressed  Ran 
dolph  for  the  first  time  with  the  local  importance  and  solid 
standing  of  the  Dorntons.  All  the  magnates  and  old  county 
families  were  represented.  The  inn  yard  and  the  streets  of 
the  little  village  were  filled  with  their  quaint  liveries,  crested 
paneled  carriages,  and  silver-cipher  caparisoned  horses,  with 
a  sprinkling  of  fashion  from  London.  He  could  not  close 
his  ears  to  the  gossip  of  the  villagers  regarding  the  sudden 
ness  of  the  late  baronet's  death,  the  extinction  of  the  title, 
the  accession  of  the  orphaned  girl  to  the  property,  and  even, 
to  his  greater  exasperation,  speculations  upon  her  future  and 
probable  marriage.  "Some  o'  they  gay  chaps  from  Lunnon 
will  be  lordin'  it  over  the  Hall  afore  long,"  was  the  com 
ment  of  the  hostler. 

It  was  with  some  little  bitterness  that  Randolph  took  his 
seat  in  the  crowded  church.  But  this  feeling,  and  even  his 
attempts  to  discover  Miss  Eversleigh's  face  in  the  stately 
family  pew  fenced  off  from  the  chancel,  presently  passed 
away.  And  then  his  mind  began  to  be  filled  with  strange 
and  weird  fancies.  What  grim  and  ghostly  revelations 
might  pass  between  this  dead  scion  of  the  Dorntons  lying  on 
the  trestles  before  them  and  the  obscure,  nameless  ticket  of 
leave  man  awaiting  his  entrance  in  the  vault  below !  The 
incongruity  of  this  thought,  with  the  smug  complacency  of 


88  TRENT'S  TRUST 

the  worldly  minded  congregation  sitting  around  him,  and  the 
probable  smiling  carelessness  of  the  reckless  rover  —  the 
cause  of  all  —  even  now  idly  pacing  the  deck  on  the  distant 
sea,  touched  him  with  horror.  And  when  added  to  this 
was  the  consciousness  that  Sibyl  Eversleigh  was  forced  to 
become  an  innocent  actor  in  this  hideous  comedy,  it  seemed 
as  much  as  he  could  bear.  Again  he  questioned  himself, 
Was  he  right  to  withhold  his  secret  from  her  1  In  vain  he 
tried  to  satisfy  his  conscience  that  she  was  happier  in  her 
ignorance.  The  resolve  he  had  made  to  keep  his  relations 
with  her  apart  from  his  secret,  he  knew  now,  was  impos 
sible.  But  one  thing  was  left  to  him.  Until  he  could 
disclose  his  whole  story  —  until  his  lips  were  unsealed  by 
Captain  Dornton  —  he  must  never  see  her  again.  And  the 
grim  sanctity  of  the  edifice  seemed  to  make  that  resolution 
a  vow. 

He  did  not  dare  to  raise  his  eyes  again  toward  her  pew, 
lest  a  sight  of  her  sweet,  grave  face  might  shake  his  resolu 
tion,  and  he  slipped  away  first  among  the  departing  congre 
gation.  He  sent  her  a  brief  note  from  the  inn  saying  that 
he  was  recalled  to  London  by  an  earlier  train,  and  that  he 
would  be  obliged  to  return  to  California  at  once,  but  hoping 
that  if  he  could  be  of  any  further  assistance  to  her  she 
would  write  to  him  to  the  care  of  the  bank.  It  was  a  formal 
letter,  and  yet  he  had  never  written  otherwise  than  formally 
to  her.  That  night  he  reached  London.  On  the  following 
night  he  sailed  from  Liverpool  for  America. 

Six  months  had  passed.  It  was  difficult,  at  first,  for 
Randolph  to  pick  up  his  old  life  again;  but  his  habitual 
earnestness  and  singleness  of  purpose  stood  him  in  good 
stead,  and  a  vague  rumor  that  he  had  made  some  powerful 
friends  abroad,  with  the  nearer  fact  that  he  had  a  letter  of 
credit  for  a  thousand  pounds,  did  not  lessen  his  reputation. 
He  was  reinstalled  and  advanced  at  the  bank.  Mr.  Ding- 


TRENT'S  TRUST  89 

wall  was  exceptionally  gracious,  and  minute  in  his  inquiries 
regarding  Miss  Eversleigh's  succession  to  the  Dornton  pro 
perty,  with  an  occasional  shrewdness  of  eye  in  his  interroga 
tions  which  recalled  to  Randolph  the  questioning  of  Miss 
Eversleigh's  friends,  and  which  he  responded  to  as  cau 
tiously.  For  the  young  fellow  remained  faithful  to  his  vow 
even  in  thinking  of  her,  and  seemed  to  be  absorbed  entirely 
in  his  business.  Yet  there  was  a  vague  ambition  of  purpose 
in  this  absorption  that  would  probably  have  startled  the  more 
conservative  Englishman  had  he  known  it. 

He  had  not  heard  from  Miss  Eversleigh  since  he  left,  nor 
had  he  received  any  response  from  the  captain.  Indeed,  he 
had  indulged  in  little  hopes  of  either.  But  he  kept  stolidly 
at  work,  perhaps  with  a  larger  trust  than  he  knew.  And 
then,  one  day,  he  received  a  letter  addressed  in  a  handwrit 
ing  that  made  his  heart  leap,  though  he  had  seen  it  but  once, 
when  it  conveyed  the  news  of  Sir  William  Dornton' s  sudden 
illness.  It  was  from  Miss  Eversleigh,  but  the  postmark 
was  Callao!  He  tore  open  the  envelope,  and  for  the  next 
few  moments  forgot  everything  —  his  business  devotion,  his 
lofty  purpose,  even  his  solemn  vow. 

It  read  as  follows :  — 

DEAR  MR.  TRENT,  —  I  should  not  be  writing  to  you 
now  if  I  did  not  believe  that  I  now  understand  why  you 
left  us  so  abruptly  on  the  day  of  the  funeral,  and  why  you 
were  at  times  so  strange.  You  might  have  been  a  little  less 
hard  and  cold  even  if  you  knew  all  that  you  did  know.  But 
I  must  write  now,  for  I  shall  be  in  San  Francisco  a  few  days 
after  this  reaches  you,  and  I  must  see  you  and  have  your 
help,  for  I  can  have  no  other,  as  you  know.  You  are  won 
dering  what  this  means,  and  why  I  am  here.  I  know  all 
and  everything.  I  know  he  is  alive  and  never  was  dead. 
I  know  I  have  no  right  to  what  I  have,  and  never  had,  and 
I  have  come  here  to  seek  him  and  make  him  take  it  back. 


90  TRENT'S  TRUST 

I  could  do  no  other.  I  could  not  live  and  do  anything  but 
that,  and  you  might  have  known  it.  But  I  have  not  found 
him  here  as  I  hoped  I  should,  though  perhaps  it  was  a  fool 
ish  hope  of  mine,  and  I  am  coming  to  you  to  help  me  seek 
him,  for  he  must  be  found.  You  know  I  want  to  keep  his 
and  your  secret,  and  therefore  the  only  one  I  can  turn  to 
for  assistance  and  counsel  is  you. 

You  are  wondering  how  I  know  what  I  do.  Two  months 
ago  /  got  a  letter  from  him  —  the  strangest,  quaintest,  and 
yet  the  kindest  letter  —  exactly  like  himself  and  the  way 
he  used  to  talk !  He  had  just  heard  of  his  brother's  death, 
and  congratulated  me  on  coming  into  the  property,  and  said 
he  was  now  perfectly  happy,  and  should  keep  dead,  and 
never,  never  come  to  life  again;  that  he  never  thought 
things  would  turn  out  as  splendidly  as  they  had  —  for  Sir 
William  'might  have  had  an  heir  —  and  that  now  he  should 
really  die  happy.  He  said  something  about  everything 
being  legally  right,  and  that  I  could  do  what  I  liked  with 
the  property.  As  if  that  would  satisfy  me !  Yet  it  was  all 
so  sweet  and  kind,  and  so  like  dear  old  Jack,  that  I  cried 
all  night.  And  then  I  resolved  to  come  here,  where  his 
letter  was  dated  from.  Luckily  I  was  of  age  now,  and  could 
do  as  I  liked,  and  I  said  I  wanted  to  travel  in  South  Amer 
ica  and  California;  and  I  suppose  they  did  n't  think  it  very 
strange  that  I  should  use  my  liberty  in  that  way.  Some 
said  it  was  quite  like  a  Dornton !  I  knew  something  of  Cal- 
lao  from  your  friend  Miss  Avondale,  and  could  talk  about 
it,  which  impressed  them.  So  I  started  off  with  only  a 
maid  —  my  old  nurse.  I  was  a  little  frightened  at  first, 
when  I  came  to  think  what  I  was  doing,  but  everybody  was 
very  kind,  and  I  really  feel  quite  independent  now.  So, 
you  see,  a  girl  may  be  independent,  after  all !  Of  course  I 
shall  see  Mr.  Dingwall  in  San  Francisco,  but  he  need  not 
know  anything  more  than  that  I  am  traveling  for  pleasure. 
And  I  may  go  to  the  Sandwich  Islands  or  SydneyTif  I  think 


TRENT'S  TRUST  91 

he  is  there.      Of  course  I  have  had  to  use  some  money  — 
some  of  his  rents  —  but  it  shall  be  paid  back.      I  will  tell 
you  everything  about  my  plans  when  I  see  you. 
Yours  faithfully, 

SIBYL  EVERSLEIGH. 

P.  S.  Why  did  you  let  me  cry  over  that  man's  tomb  in 
the  church? 

Eandolph  looked  again  at  the  date,  and  then  hurriedly 
consulted  the  shipping  list.  She  was  due  in  ten  days.  Yet, 
delighted  as  he  was  with  that  prospect,  and  touched  as  he 
had  been  with  her  courage  and  naive  determination,  after 
his  first  joy  he  laid  the  letter  down  with  a  sigh.  For  what 
ever  was  his  ultimate  ambition,  he  was  still  a  mere  salaried 
clerk;  whatever  was  her  self-sacrificing  purpose,  she  was 
still  the  rich  heiress.  The  seal  of  secrecy  had  been  broken, 
yet  the  situation  remained  unchanged ;  their  association  must 
still  be  dominated  by  it.  And  he  shrank  from  the  thought 
of  making  her  girlish  appeal  to  him  for  help  an  opportunity 
for  revealing  his  real  feelings. 

This  instinct  was  strengthened  by  the  somewhat  formal 
manner  in  which  Mr.  Dingwall  announced  her  approaching 
visit.  "Miss  Eversleigh  will  stay  with  Mrs.  Dingwall  while 
she  is  here,  on  account  of  her  —  er  —  position,  and  the  fact 
that  she  is  without  a  chaperon.  Mrs.  Dingwall  will,  of 
course,  be  glad  to  receive  any  friends  Miss  Eversleigh  would 
like  to  see." 

Eandolph  frankly  returned  that  Miss  Eversleigh  had  writ 
ten  to  him,  and  that  he  would  be  glad  to  present  himself. 
Nothing  more  was  said,  but  as  the  days  passed  he  could  not 
help  noticing  that,  in  proportion  as  Mr.  Dingwall' s  manner 
became  more  stiff  and  ceremonious,  Mr.  Revelstoke's  usually 
crisp,  good-humored  suggestions  grew  more  deliberate,  and 
Eandolph  found  himself  once  or  twice  the  subject  of  the 
president's  penetrating  but  smiling  scrutiny.  And  the  day 


92  TRENT'S  TRUST 

before  Miss  Eversleigh's  arrival  his  natural  excitement  was 
a  little  heightened  by  a  summons  to  Mr.  Revelstoke's  pri 
vate  office. 

As  he  entered,  the  president  laid  aside  his  pen  and  closed 
the  door. 

"I  have  never  made  it  my  business,  Trent,"  he  said,  with 
good- humored  brusqueness,  "  to  interfere  in  my  employees' 
private  affairs,  unless  they  affect  their  relations  to  the  bank, 
and  I  have  n't  had  the  least  occasion  to  do  so  with  you. 
Neither  has  Mr.  Dingwall,  although  it  is  on  his  behalf  that 
I  am  now  speaking."  As  Randolph  listened  with  a  con 
tracted  brow,  he  went  on  with  a  grim  smile :  "  But  he  is  an 
Englishman,  you  know,  and  has  certain  ideas  of  the  impor 
tance  of  '  position, '  particularly  among  his  own  people. 
He  wishes  me,  therefore,  to  warn  you  of  what  he  calls  the 
'  disparity '  of  your  position  and  that  of  a  young  English 
lady  —  Miss  Eversleigh  —  with  whom  you  have  some  ac 
quaintance,  and  in  whom,"  he  added  with  a  still  grimmer 
satisfaction,  "he  fears  you  are  too  deeply  interested." 

Randolph  blazed.  "If  Mr.  Dingwall  had  asked  me, 
sir,"  he  said  hotly,  "I  would  have  told  him  that  I  have 
never  yet  had  to  be  reminded  that  Miss  Eversleigh  is  a  rich 
heiress  and  I  only  a  poor  clerk,  but  as  to  his  using  her  name 
in  such  a  connection,  or  dictating  to  me  the  manner  of  "  — 

"Hold  hard,"  said  Revelstoke,  lifting  his  hand  deprecat- 
ingly,  yet  with  his  unchanged  smile.  "I  don't  agree  with 
Mr.  Dingwall,  and  I  have  every  reason  to  know  the  value 
of  your  services,  yet  I  admit  something  is  due  to  his  preju 
dices.  And  in  this  matter,  Trent,  the  Bank  of  Eureka, 
while  I  am  its  president,  does  n't  take  a  back  seat.  I  have 
concluded  to  make  you  manager  of  the  branch  bank  at 
Marysville,  an  independent  position  with  its  salary  and  com 
missions.  And  if  that  doesn't  suit  Dingwall,  why,"  he 
added,  rising  from  his  desk  with  a  short  laugh,  "he  has  a 
bigger  idea  of  the  value  of  property  than  the  banS  has." 


TRENT'S  TRUST  93 

"One  moment,  sir,  I  implore  you/'  burst  out  Kandolph 
breathlessly.  "  If  your  kind  offer  is  based  upon  the  mis 
taken  belief  that  I  have  the  least  claim  upon  Miss  Ever- 
sleigh's  consideration  more  than  that  of  simple  friendship  — 
if  anybody  has  dared  to  give  you  the  idea  that  I  have  as 
pired  by  word  or  deed  to  more,  or  that  the  young  lady  has 
ever  countenanced  or  even  suspected  such  aspirations,  it  is 
utterly  false,  and  grateful  as  I  am  for  your  kindness,  I 
could  not  accept  it." 

"Look  here,  Trent,"  returned  E-evelstoke  curtly,  yet  lay 
ing  his  hand  on  the  young  man's  shoulder  not  unkindly. 
"All  that  is  your  private  affair,  which,  as  I  told  you,  I 
don't  interfere  with.  The  other  is  a  question  between  Mr. 
Dingwall  and  myself  of  your  comparative  value.  It  won't 
hurt  you  with  anybody  to  know  how  high  we  've  assessed  it. 
Don't  spoil  a  good  thing!  " 

Grateful  even  in  his  uncertainty,  Kandolph  could  only 
thank  him  and  withdraw.  Yet  this  fateful  forcing  of  his 
hand  in  a  delicate  question  gave  him  a  new  courage.  It  was 
with  a  certain  confidence  now  in  his  capacity  as  her  friend 
and  qualified  to  advise  her  that  he  called  at  Mr.  Dingwall' s 
the  evening  she  arrived.  It  struck  him  that  in  the  Ding- 
walls'  reception  of  him  there  was  mingled  with  their  formal 
ity  a  certain  respect. 

Thanks  to  this,  perhaps,  he  found  her  alone.  She  seemed 
to  him  more  beautiful  than  his  recollection  had  painted  her, 
in  the  development  that  maturity,  freedom  from  restraint, 
and  time  had  given  her.  For  a  moment  his  new,  fresh 
courage  was  staggered.  But  she  had  retained  her  youthful 
simplicity,  and  came  toward  him  with  the  same  na'ive  and 
innocent  yearning  in  her  clear  eyes  that  he  remembered  at 
their  last  meeting.  Their  first  words  were,  naturally,  of 
their  great  secret,  and  Randolph  told  her  the  whole  story  of 
his  unexpected  and  startling  meeting  with  the  captain,  and 
the  captain's  strange  narrative,  of  his  undertaking  the  jour- 


94  TRENT'S  TRUST 

ney  with  him  to  recover  his  claim,  establish  his  identity, 
and,  as  Randolph  had  hoped,  restore  to  her  that  member  of 
the  family  whom  she  had  most  cared  for.  He  recounted 
the  captain's  hesitation  on  arriving;  his  own  journey  to  the 
rectory ;  the  news  she  had  given  him ;  the  reason  of  his  sin 
gular  behavior ;  his  return  to  London ;  and  the  second  dis 
appearance  of  the  captain.  He  read  to  her  the  letter  he  had 
received  from  him,  and  told  her  of  his  hopeless  chase  to  the 
docks  only  to  find  him  gone.  She  listened  to  him  breath 
lessly,  with  varying  color,  with  an  occasional  outburst  of 
pity,  or  a  strange  shining  of  the  eyes,  that  sometimes  be 
came  clouded  and  misty,  and  at  the  conclusion  with  a  calm 
and  grave  paleness. 

"But,"  she  said,  "you  should  have  told  me  all." 

"It  was  not  my  secret,"  he  pleaded. 

"You  should  have  trusted  me." 

"But  the  captain  had  trusted  me." 

She  looked  at  him  with  grave  wonder,  and  then  said 
with  her  old  directness:  "But  if  I  had  been  told  such  a 
secret  affecting  you,  I  should  have  told  you. "  She  stopped 
suddenly,  seeing  his  eyes  fixed  on  her,  and  dropped  her  own 
lids  with  a  slight  color.  "I  mean,"  she  said  hesitatingly, 
"of  course  you  have  acted  nobly,  generously,  kindly,  wisely 
—  but  I  hate  secrets!  Oh,  why  cannot  one  be  always 
frank?" 

A  wild  idea  seized  Randolph.  "  But  I  have  another  se 
cret  —  you  have  not  guessed  —  and  I  have  not  dared  to  tell 
you.  Do  you  wish  me  to  be  frank  now  1 " 

"  Why  not  ? "  she  said  simply,  but  she  did  not  look  up. 

Then  he  told  her !  But,  strangest  of  all,  in  spite  of  his 
fears  and  convictions,  it  flowed  easily  and  naturally  as  a  part 
of  his  other  secret,  with  an  eloquence  he  had  not  dreamed 
of  before.  But  when  he  told  her  of  his  late  position  and 
his  prospects,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his  for  the  first  time, 


TRENT'S  TRUST  95 

yet  without  withdrawing  her  hand  from  his,  and  said  re 
proachfully,  — 

"Yet  but  for  that  you  would  never  have  told  me." 

"  How  could  1 1 "  he  returned  eagerly.  "  For  but  for  that 
how  could  I  help  you  to  carry  out  your  trust  1  How  could 
I  devote  myself  to  your  plans,  and  enable  you  to  carry  them 
out  without  touching  a  dollar  of  that  inheritance  which  you 
believe  to  be  wrongfully  yours  1 " 

Then,  with  his  old  boyish  enthusiasm,  he  sketched  a 
glowing  picture  of  their  future :  how  they  would  keep  the 
Dornton  property  intact  until  the  captain  was  found  and 
communicated  with ;  and  how  they  would  cautiously  collect 
all  the  information  accessible  to  find  him  until  such  time  as 
Eandolph's  fortunes  would  enable  them  both  to  go  on  a 
voyage  of  discovery  after  him.  And  in  the  midst  of  this 
prophetic  forecast,  which  brought  them  so  closely  together 
that  she  was  enabled  to  examine  his  watch  chain,  she 
said,  — 

"I  see  you  have  kept  Cousin  Jack's  ring.  Did  he  ever 
see  it?" 

"He  told  me  he  had  given  it  to  you  as  his  little  sweet 
heart,  and  that  he  "  — 

There  was  a  singular  pause  here. 

"  He  never  did  that  —  at  least,  not  in  that  way !  "  said 
Sybil  Eversleigh. 

And,  strangely  enough,  the  optimistic  Randolph's  pro 
phecies  came  true.  He  was  married  a  month  later  to  Sibyl 
Eversleigh,  Mr.  Dingwall  giving  away  the  bride.  He  and 
his  wife  were  able  to  keep  their  trust  in  regard  to  the  pro 
perty,  for,  without  investing  a  dollar  of  it  in  the  bank,  the 
mere  reputation  of  his  wife's  wealth  brought  him  a  flood  of 
other  investors  and  a  confidence  which  at  once  secured  his 
success.  In  two  years  he  was  able  to  take  his  wife  on  a  six 


96  TRENT'S  TRUST 

months'  holiday  to  Europe  via  Australia,  but  of  the  details 
of  that  holiday  no  one  knew.  It  is,  however,  on  record 
that  ten  or  twelve  years  ago  Dornton  Hall,  which  had  heen 
leased  or  unoccupied  for  a  long  time,  was  refitted  for  the 
heiress,  her  husband,  and  their  children  during  a  brief  occu 
pancy,  and  that  in  that  period  extensive  repairs  were  made 
to  the  interior  of  the  old  Norman  church,  and  much  atten 
tion  given  to  the  redecoration  and  restoration  of  its  ancient 
tombs. 


MR.  MACGLOWRIE'S  WIDOW 


ME.  MACGLOWKIE'S  WIDOW 

VERY  little  was  known  of  her  late  husband,  yet  that  lit 
tle  was  of  a  sufficiently  awe-inspiring  character  to  satisfy  the 
curiosity  of  Laurel  Spring.  A  man  of  unswerving  animosity 
and  candid  belligerency,  untempered  by  any  human  weak 
ness,  he  had  been  actively  engaged  as  survivor  in  two  or 
three  blood  feuds  in  Kentucky,  and  some  desultory  dueling, 
only  to  succumb,  through  the  irony  of  fate,  to  an  attack  of 
fever  and  ague  in  San  Francisco.  Gifted  with  a  fine  sense 
of  humor,  he  is  said,  in  his  last  moments,  to  have  called  the 
simple-minded  clergyman  to  his  bedside  to  assist  him  in  put 
ting  on  his  boots.  The  kindly  divine,  although  pointing 
out  to  him  that  he  was  too  weak  to  rise,  much  less  walk, 
could  not  resist  the  request  of  a  dying  man.  When  it  was 
fulfilled,  Mr.  MacGlowrie  crawled  back  into  bed  with  the 
remark  that  his  race  had  always  "died  with  their  boots  on," 
and  so  passed  smilingly  and  tranquilly  away. 

It  is  probable  that  this  story  was  invented  to  soften  the 
ignominy  of  MacGlowrie 's  peaceful  end.  The  widow  her 
self  was  also  reported  to  be  endowed  with  relations  of 
equally  homicidal  eccentricities.  Her  two  brothers,  Stephen 
and  Hector  Boompointer,  had  Western  reputations  that 
were  quite  as  lurid  and  remote.  Her  own  experiences  of  a 
frontier  life  had  been  rude  and  startling,  and  her  scalp  —  a 
singularly  beautiful  one  of  blond  hair  —  had  been  in  peril 
from  Indians  on  several  occasions.  A  pair  of  scissors,  with 
which  she  had  once  pinned  the  intruding  hand  of  a  ma 
rauder  to  her  cabin  doorpost,  was  to  be  seen  in  her  sitting 
room  at  Laurel  Spring.  A  fair-faced  woman  with  eyes  the 
color  of  pale  sherry,  a  complexion  sallowed  by  innutritions 


100  MB.   MACGLOWKIE'S  WIDOW 

food,  slight  and  tall  figure,  she  gave  little  suggestion  of  this 
Amazonian  feat.  But  that  it  exercised  a  wholesome  re 
straint  over  the  many  who  would  like  to  have  induced  her 
to  reenter  the  married  state,  there  is  little  reason  to  doubt. 
Laurel  Spring  was  a  peaceful  agricultural  settlement.  Few 
of  its  citizens  dared  to  aspire  to  the  dangerous  eminence  of 
succeeding  the  defunct  MacGlowrie;  few  could  hope  that 
the  sister  of  living  Boompointers  would  accept  an  obvious 
mesalliance  with  them.  However  sincere  their  affection, 
life  was  still  sweet  to  the  rude  inhabitants  of  Laurel  Spring, 
and  the  preservation  of  the  usual  quantity  of  limbs  necessary 
to  them  in  their  avocations.  With  their  devotion  thus 
chastened  by  caution,  it  would  seem  as  if  the  charming  mis 
tress  of  Laurel  Spring  House  was  secure  from  disturbing 
attentions. 

It  was  a  pleasant  summer  afternoon,  and  the  sun  was  be 
ginning  to  strike  under  the  laurels  around  the  hotel  into  the 
little  office  where  the  widow  sat  with  the  housekeeper  —  a 
stout  spinster  of  a  coarser  Western  type.  Mrs.  MacGlowrie 
was  looking  wearily  over  some  accounts  on  the  desk  before 
her,  and  absently  putting  back  some  tumbled  sheaves  from 
the  stack  of  her  heavy  hair.  For  the  widow  had  a  certain 
indolent  Southern  negligence,  which  in  a  less  pretty  woman 
would  have  been  untidiness,  and  a  characteristic  hook  and 
eyeless  freedom  of  attire  which  on  less  graceful  limbs  would 
have  been  slovenly.  One  sleeve  cuff  was  unbuttoned,  but 
it  showed  the  blue  veins  of  her  delicate  wrist;  the  neck  of 
her  dress  had  lost  a  hook,  but  the  glimpse  of  a  bit  of  edg 
ing  round  the  white  throat  made  amends.  Of  all  which, 
however,  it  should  be  said  that  the  widow,  in  her  limp 
abstraction,  was  really  unconscious. 

"I  reckon  we  kin  put  the  new  preacher  in  Kernel  Star- 
bottle's  room,"  said  Miss  Morvin,  the  housekeeper.  "The 
kernel  's  going  to-night." 

"  Oh, "  said  the  widow  in  a  tone  of  relief,  but  whether  at 


MR.   HAGGLE W£ltf'3    Wtob'W  101 

the  early  departure  of  the  gallant  colonel  or  at  the  success 
ful  solution  of  the  problem  of  lodging  the  preacher,  Miss 
Morvin  could  not  determine.  But  she  went  on  tenta 
tively  :  — 

"The  kernel  was  talkin'  in  the  bar  room,  and  kind  o' 
wonderin'  why  you  hadn't  got  married  agin.  Said  you  'd 
make  a  stir  in  Sacramento  —  but  you  was  jest  berried  here." 

"I  suppose  he  's  heard  of  my  husband?  "  said  the  widow 
indifferently. 

"Yes  —  but  he  said  he  could  n't  place  you>"  returned 
Miss  Morvin. 

The  widow  looked  up.  "Could  n't  place  me  ?  "  she  re 
peated. 

"Yes  —  hadn't  heard  o'  MacGlowrie's  wife  and  disre- 
membered  your  brothers." 

"The  colonel  doesn't  know  everybody,  even  if  he  is  a 
fighting  man,"  said  Mrs.  MacGlowrie  with  languid  scorn. 

"That 's  just  what  Dick  Blair  said,"  returned  Miss  Mor 
vin.  "And  though  he's  only  a  doctor,  he  jest  stuck  up 
agin'  the  kernel,  and  told  that  story  about  your  jabbin'  that 
man  with  your  scissors  —  beautiful;  and  how  you  once 
fought  off  a  bear  with  a  red-hot  iron,  so  that  you  'd  have 
admired  to  hear  him.  He  's  awfully  gone  on  you!  " 

The  widow  took  that  opportunity  to  button  her  cuff. 

"And  how  long  does  the  preacher  calculate  to  stay?" 
she  added,  returning  to  business  details. 

"Only  a  day.  They'll  have  his  house  fixed  up  and 
ready  for  him  to-morrow.  They  're  spendin'  a  heap  o' 
money  on  it.  He  ought  to  be  the  pow'ful  preacher  they 
say  he  is  —  to  be  worth  it. " 

But  here  Mrs.  MacGlowrie's  interest  in  the  conversation 
ceased,  and  it  dropped. 

In  her  anxiety  to  further  the  suit  of  Dick  Blair,  Miss 
Morvin  had  scarcely  reported  the  colonel  with  fairness. 

That  gentleman,  leaning  against  the  bar  in  the  hotel  sa- 


102 


'MR    MACGLOWRXEV WIDOW 


loon  with  a  cocktail  in  his  hand,  had  expatiated  with  his 
usual  gallantry  upon  Mrs.  MacGlowrie's  charms,  and  on  his 
own  "  personal "  responsibility  had  expressed  the  opinion 
that  they  were  thrown  away  on  Laurel  Spring.  That  — 
blank  it  all  —  she  reminded  him  of  the  blankest  beautiful 
woman  he  had  seen  even  in  Washington  —  old  Major  Bev- 
eridge's  daughter  from  Kentucky.  Were  they  sure  she 
wasn't  from  Kentucky  ?  Wasn't  her  name  Beveridge  — 
and  not  Boompointer?  Becoming  more  reminiscent  over 
his  second  drink,  the  colonel  could  vaguely  recall  only  one 
Boompointer  —  a  blank  skulking  hound,  sir  —  a  mean  white 
shyster  —  but,  of  course,  he  could  n't  have  been  of  the  same 
breed  as  such  a  blank  fine  woman  as  the  widow !  It  was 
here  that  Dick  Blair  interrupted  with  a  heightened  color 
and  a  glowing  eulogy  of  the  widow's  relations  and  herself, 
which,  however,  only  increased  the  chivalry  of  the  colonel 
—  who  would  be  the  last  man,  sir,  to  detract  from  —  or 
suffer  any  detraction  of  —  a  lady's  reputation.  It  was  need 
less  to  say  that  all  this  was  intensely  diverting  to  the  by 
standers,  and  proportionally  discomposing  to  Blair,  who 
already  experienced  some  slight  jealousy  of  the  colonel  as 
a  man  whose  fighting  reputation  might  possibly  attract  the 
affections  of  the  widow  of  the  belligerent  MacGlowrie.  He 
had  cursed  his  folly  and  relapsed  into  gloomy  silence  until 
the  colonel  left. 

For  Dick  Blair  loved  the  widow  with  the  unselfishness 
of  a  generous  nature  and  a  first  passion.  He  had  admired 
her  from  the  first  day  his  lot  was  cast  in  Laurel  Spring, 
where  coming  from  a  rude  frontier  practice  he  had  succeeded 
the  district  doctor  in  a  more  peaceful  and  domestic  minis 
tration.  A  skillful  and  gentle  surgeon  rather  than  a  general 
household  practitioner,  he  was  at  first  coldly  welcomed  by 
the  gloomy  dyspeptics  and  ague-haunted  settlers  from  ripa 
rian  lowlands.  The  few  bucolic  idlers  who  had  relieved  the 
monotony  of  their  lives  by  the  stimulus  of  patent  medicines 


MR.   MACGLOWRIE'S  WIDOW  103 

and  the  exaltation  of  stomach  bitters,  also  looked  askance 
at  him.  A  common-sense  way  of  dealing  with  their  ail 
ments  did  not  naturally  commend  itself  to  the  shopkeepers 
who  vended  these  nostrums,  and  he  was  made  to  feel  the 
opposition  of  trade.  But  he  was  gentle  to  women  and  chil 
dren  and  animals,  and,  oddly  enough,  it  was  to  this  latter 
dilection  that  he  owed  the  widow's  interest  in  him  —  an 
interest  that  eventually  made  him  popular  elsewhere. 

The  widow  had  a  pet  dog  —  a  beautiful  spaniel,  who, 
however,  had  assimilated  her  graceful  languor  to  his  own 
native  love  of  ease  to  such  an  extent  that  he  failed  in  a 
short  leap  between  a  balcony  and  a  window,  and  fell  to  the 
ground  with  a  fractured  thigh.  The  dog  was  supposed  to 
be  crippled  for  life  —  even  if  that  life  were  worth  preserv 
ing  —  when  Dr.  Blair  came  to  the  rescue,  set  the  frac 
tured  limb,  put  it  in  splints  and  plaster  after  an  ingenious 
design  of  his  own,  visited  him  daily,  and  eventually  restored 
him  to  his  mistress's  lap  sound  in  wind  and  limb.  How 
far  this  daily  ministration  and  the  necessary  exchange  of 
sympathy  between  the  widow  and  himself  heightened  his 
zeal  was  not  known.  There  were  those  who  believed  that 
the  whole  thing  was  an  unmanly  trick  to  get  the  better  of 
his  rivals  in  the  widow's  good  graces;  there  were  others 
who  averred  that  his  treatment  of  a  brute  beast  like  a  human 
being  was  sinful  and  unchristian.  "He  could  n't  have  done 
more  for  a  regularly  baptized  child,"  said  the  postmistress. 
"And  what  mo'  would  a  regularly  baptized  child  have 
wanted  1 "  returned  Mrs.  MacGlowrie,  with  the  drawling 
Southern  intonation  she  fell  back  upon  when  most  con 
temptuous. 

But  Dr.  Blair's  increasing  practice  and  the  widow's  pre 
occupation  presently  ended  their  brief  intimacy.  It  was 
well  known  that  she  encouraged  no  suitors  at  the  hotel,  and 
his  shyness  and  sensitiveness  shrank  from  ostentatious  ad 
vances.  There  seemed  to  be  no  chance  of  her  becoming, 


104  MR.  MACGLOWKIE'S  WIDOW 

herself,  his  patient;  her  sane  mind,  indolent  nerves,  and 
calm  circulation  kept  her  from  feminine  "vapors"  of  femi 
nine  excesses.  She  retained  the  teeth  and  digestion  of  a 
child  in  her  thirty  odd  years,  and  abused  neither.  Riding 
and  the  cultivation  of  her  little  garden  gave  her  sufficient 
exercise.  And  yet  the  unexpected  occurred!  The  day  af 
ter  Starbottle  left,  Dr.  Blair  was  summoned  hastily  to  the 
hotel.  Mrs.  MacGlowrie  had  been  found  lying  senseless  in 
a  dead  faint  in  the  passage  outside  the  dining  room.  In  his 
hurried  flight  thither  with  the  messenger  he  could  learn 
only  that  she  had  seemed  to  be  in  her  usual  health  that 
morning,  and  that  no  one  could  assign  any  cause  for  her 
fainting. 

He  could  find  out  little  more  when  he  arrived  and  exam 
ined  her  as  she  lay  pale  and  unconscious  on  the  sofa  of  her 
sitting  room.  It  had  not  been  thought  necessary  to  loosen 
her  already  loose  dress,  and  indeed  he  could  find  no  organic 
disturbance.  The  case  was  one  of  sudden  nervous  shock  — 
but  this,  with  his  knowledge  of  her  indolent  temperament, 
seemed  almost  absurd.  They  could  tell  him  nothing  but 
that  she  was  evidently  on  the  point  of  entering  the  dining 
room  when  she  fell  unconscious.  Had  she  been  frightened 
by  anything?  A  snake  or  a  rat?  Miss  Morvin  was  indig 
nant!  The  widow  of  MacGlowrie  —  the  repeller  of  griz 
zlies  —  frightened  at  "  sich  " !  Had  she  been  upset  by  any 
previous  excitement,  passion,  or  the  receipt  of  bad  news? 
No!  —  she  "wasn't  that  kind,"  as  the  doctor  knew.  And 
even  as  they  were  speaking  he  felt  the  widow's  healthy  life 
returning  to  the  pulse  he  was  holding,  and  giving  a  faint 
tinge  to  her  lips.  Her  blue-veined  eyelids  quivered  slightly 
and  then  opened  with  languid  wonder  on  the  doctor  and  her 
surroundings.  Suddenly  a  quick,  startled  look  contracted 
the  yellow  brown  pupils  of  her  eyes,  she  lifted  herself  to  a 
sitting  posture  with  a  hurried  glance  around  thej:oom  and 
at  the  door  beyond.  Catching  the  quick,  observant  eyes 


MR.  MACGLOWRIE'S  WIDOW  105 

of  Dr.  Blair,  she  collected  herself  with  an  effort,  which  Dr. 
Blair  felt  in  her  pulse,  and  drew  away  her  wrist. 

"What  is  it?     What  happened? "  she  said  weakly. 

"You  had  a  slight  attack  of  faintness,"  said  the  doctor 
cheerily,  "and  they  called  me  in  as  I  was  passing,  but 
you  're  all  right  now." 

"How  pow'ful  foolish,"  she  said,  with  returning  color, 
but  her  eyes  still  glancing  at  the  door,  "  slumping  off  like 
a  green  gyrl  at  nothin'." 

"Perhaps  you  were  startled?"  said  the  doctor. 

Mrs.  MacGlowrie  glanced  up  quickly  and  looked  away. 
"No!  —  Let  me  see!  I  was  just  passing  through  the  hall, 
going  into  the  dining  room,  when  —  everything  seemed  to 
waltz  round  me  —  and  I  was  off!  Where  did  they  find 
me  ? "  she  said,  turning  to  Miss  Morvin. 

"I  picked  you  up  just  outside  the  door,"  replied  the 
housekeeper. 

"  Then  they  did  not  see  me  ? "  said  Mrs.  MacGlowrie. 

"Who's  they?"  responded  the  housekeeper  with  more 
directness  than  grammatical  accuracy. 

"The  people  in  the  dining  room.  I  was  just  opening 
the  door  —  and  I  felt  this  coming  on  —  and  —  I  reckon  I 
had  just  sense  enough  to  shut  the  door  again  before  I  went 
off." 

"Then  that  accounts  for  what  Jim  Slocum  said,"  uttered 
Miss  Morvin  triumphantly.  "He  was  in  the  dining  room 
talkin'  with  the  new  preacher,  when  he  allowed  he  heard 
the  door  open  and  shut  behind  him.  Then  he  heard  a  kind 
of  slump  outside  and  opened  the  door  again  just  to  find  you 
lyin'  there,  and  to  rush  off  and  get  me.  And  that 's  why 
he  was  so  mad  at  the  preacher !  —  for  he  says  he  just  skur- 
ried  away  without  offerin'  to  help.  He  allows  the  preacher 
may  be  a  pow'ful  exhorter  —  but  he  ain't  worth  much  at 
4  works.'" 

"Some  men  can't  bear  to  be  around  when  a  woman  's  up 


106  MR.  MACGLOWRIE'S  WIDOW 

to  that  sort  of  foolishness,"  said  the  widow,  with  a  faint 
attempt  at  a  smile,  but  a  return  of  her  paleness. 

"Hadn't  you  better  lie  down  again?"  said  the  doctor 
solicitously. 

"I'm  all  right  now,"  returned  Mrs.  MacGlowrie,  strug 
gling  to  her  feet ;  "  Morvin  will  look  after  me  till  the  shaki- 
ness  goes.  But  it  was  mighty  touching  and  neighborly  to 
come  in,  Doctor,"  she  continued,  succeeding  at  last  in  bring 
ing  up  a  faint  but  adorable  smile,  which  stirred  Blair's 
pulses.  "If  I  were  my  own  dog  —  you  couldn't  have 
treated  me  better !  " 

With  no  further  excuse  for  staying  longer,  Blair  was 
obliged  to  depart  —  yet  reluctantly,  both  as  lover  and  physi 
cian.  He  was  by  no  means  satisfied  with  her  condition. 
He  called  to  inquire  the  next  day  —  but  she  was  engaged 
and  sent  word  to  say  she  was  "better." 

In  the  excitement  attending  the  advent  of  the  new 
preacher  the  slight  illness  of  the  charming  widow  was  for 
gotten.  He  had  taken  the  settlement  by  storm.  His  first 
sermon  at  Laurel  Spring  exceeded  even  the  extravagant  re 
putation  that  had  preceded  him.  Known  as  the  "Inspired 
Cowboy,"  a  common  unlettered  frontiersman,  he  was  said  to 
have  developed  wonderful  powers  of  exhortatory  eloquence 
among  the  Indians,  and  scarcely  less  savage  border  commu 
nities  where  he  had  lived,  half  outcast,  half  missionary. 
He  had  just  come  up  from  the  Southern  agricultural  dis 
tricts,  where  he  had  been,  despite  his  rude  antecedents,  sin 
gularly  effective  with  women  and  young  people.  The  moody 
dyspeptics  and  lazy  rustics  of  Laurel  Spring  were  stirred  as 
with  a  new  patent  medicine.  Dr.  Blair  went  to  the  first 
"revival "  meeting.  Without  undervaluing  the  man's  influ 
ence,  he  was  instinctively  repelled  by  his  appearance  and 
methods.  The  young  physician's  trained  powers  of  obser 
vation  not  only  saw  an  overwrought  emotionalism  in  the 
speaker's  eloquence,  but  detected  the  ring  of  insincerity  in 


ME.  MACGLOWRIE'S  WIDOW  107 

his  more  lucid  speech  and  acts.  Nevertheless,  the  hysteria 
of  the  preacher  was  communicated  to  the  congregation,  who 
wept  and  shouted  with  him.  Tired  and  discontented  house 
wives  found  their  vague  sorrows  and  vaguer  longings  were 
only  the  result  of  their  " unregenerate "  state;  the  lazy 
country  youths  felt  that  the  frustration  of  their  small  ambi 
tions  lay  in  their  not  being  "convicted  of  sin."  The  mourn 
ers'  bench  was  crowded  with  wildly  emulating  sinners.  Dr. 
Blair  turned  away  with  mingled  feelings  of  amusement  and 
contempt.  At  the  door  Jim  Slocum  tapped  him  on  the 
shoulder:  "Fetches  the  wimmin  folk  every  time,  don't  he, 
Doctor  ?  "  said  Jim. 

"So  it  seems,"  said  Blair  dryly. 

"You're  one  o'  them  scientific  fellers  that  look  inter 
things  —  what  do  you  allow  it  is  1 " 

The  young  doctor  restrained  the  crushing  answer  that 
rose  to  his  lips.  He  had  learned  caution  in  that  neighbor 
hood.  "I  couldn't  say,"  he  said  indifferently. 

"'T ain't  no  religion,"  said  Slocum  emphatically;  "it's 
jest  pure  fas'nation.  Did  ye  look  at  his  eye1?  It's  like 
a  rattlesnake's,  and  them  wimmin  are  like  birds.  They  're 
frightened  of  him  —  but  they  hev  to  do  jest  what  he  '  wills  ' 
'em.  That 's  how  he  skeert  the  widder  the  other  day." 

The  doctor  was  alert  and  on  fire  at  once.  "  Scared  the 
widow  1 "  he  repeated  indignantly. 

"  Yes.  You  know  how  she  swooned  away.  Well,  sir, 
me  and  that  preacher,  Brown,  was  the  only  one  in  that 
dinin'  room  at  the  time.  The  widder  opened  the  door  be 
hind  me  and  sorter  peeked  in,  and  that  thar  preacher  give 
a  start  and  looked  up;  and  then,  that  sort  of  queer  light 
come  in  his  eyes,  and  she  shut  the  door,  and  kinder  fluttered 
and  flopped  down  in  the  passage  outside,  like  a  bird !  And 
he  crawled  away  like  a  snake,  and  never  said  a  word!  My 
belief  is  that  either  he  hadn't  time  to  turn  on  the  hull  in 
fluence,  or  else  she,  bein'  smart,  got  the  door  shut  betwixt 


108  MR.  MACGLOWRIE' s  WIDOW 

her  and  it  in  time !  Otherwise,  sure  as  you  're  born,  she  'd 
hev  been  floppin'  and  crawlin'  and  sobbin'  arter  him — jist 
like  them  critters  we  've  left." 

"Better  not  let  the  brethren  hear  you  talk  like  that,  or 
they  '11  lynch  you,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a  laugh.  "Mrs. 
MacGlowrie  simply  had  an  attack  of  faintness  from  some 
overexertion,  that 's  all." 

Nevertheless,  he  was  uneasy  as  he  walked  away.  Mrs. 
MacGlowrie  had  evidently  received  a  shock  which  was  still 
unexplained,  and,  in  spite  of  Slocum's  exaggerated  fancy, 
there  might  be  some  foundation  in  his  story.  He  did  not 
share  the  man's  superstition,  although  he  was  not  a  skeptic 
regarding  magnetism.  Yet  even  then,  the  widow's  action 
was  one  of  repulsion,  and  as  long  as  she  was  strong  enough 
not  to  come  to  these  meetings,  she  was  not  in  danger.  A 
day  or  two  later,  as  he  was  passing  the  garden  of  the  hotel 
on  horseback,  he  saw  her  lithe,  graceful,  languid  figure 
bending  over  one  of  her  favorite  flower  beds.  The  high 
fence  partially  concealed  him  from  view,  and  she  evidently 
believed  herself  alone.  Perhaps  that  was  why  she  suddenly 
raised  herself  from  her  task,  put  back  her  straying  hair  with 
a  weary,  abstracted  look,  remained  for  a  moment  quite  still 
staring  at  the  vacant  sky,  and  then,  with  a  little  catching  of 
her  breath,  resumed  her  occupation  in  a  dull,  mechanical 
way.  In  that  brief  glimpse  of  her  charming  face,  Blair  was 
shocked  at  the  change;  she  was  pale,  the  corners  of  her 
pretty  mouth  were  drawn,  there  were  deeper  shades  in  the 
orbits  of  her  eyes,  and  in  spite  of  her  broad  garden  hat  with 
its  blue  ribbon,  her  light  flowered  frock  and  frilled  apron, 
she  looked  as  he  fancied  she  might  have  looked  in  the  first 
crushing  grief  of  her  widowhood.  Yet  he  would  have  passed 
on,  respecting  her  privacy  of  sorrow,  had  not  her  little  span 
iel  detected  him  with  her  keener  senses.  And  Fluffy  being 
truthful  —  as  dogs  are  —  and  recognizing  a  dea*  friend  in 
the  intruder,  barked  joyously. 


MR.  MACGLOWRIE'S  WIDOW  109 

The  widow  looked  up,  her  eyes  met  Blair's,  and  she  red 
dened.  But  he  was  too  acute  a  lover  to  misinterpret  what 
he  knew,  alas !  was  only  confusion  at  her  abstraction  being 
discovered.  Nevertheless,  there  was  something  else  in  her 
brown  eyes  he  had  never  seen  before.  A  momentary  light 
ing  up  of  relief — of  even  hopefulness  —  in  his  presence. 
It  was  enough  for  Blair;  he  shook  off  his  old  shyness  like 
the  dust  of  his  ride,  and  galloped  around  to  the  front 
door. 

But  she  met  him  in  the  hall  with  only  her  usual  languid 
good  humor.  Nevertheless,  Blair  was  not  abashed. 

"I  can't  put  you  in  splints  and  plaster  like  Fluffy,  Mrs. 
MacGlowrie, "  he  said,  "but  I  can  forbid  you  to  go  into  the 
garden  unless  you  're  looking  better.'  It 's  a  positive  reflec 
tion  on  my  professional  skill,  and  Laurel  Spring  will  be 
shocked,  and  hold  me  responsible." 

Mrs.  MacGlowrie  had  recovered  enough  of  her  old  spirit 
to  reply  that  she  thought  Laurel  Spring  could  be  in  better 
business  than  looking  at  her  over  her  garden  fence. 

'  "But  your  dog,  who  knows  you  're  not  well,  and  does  n't 
think  me  quite  a  fool,  had  the  good  sense  to  call  me.  You 
heard  him." 

But  the  widow  protested  that  she  was  as  strong  as  a  horse, 
and  that  Fluffy  was  like  all  puppies,  conceited  to  the  last 
degree. 

"Well,"  said  Blair  cheerfully,  "suppose  I  admit  you  are 
all  right,  physically,  you  '11  confess  you  have  some  trouble 
on  your  mind,  won't  you?  If  I  can't  make  you  show  me 
your  tongue,  you  '11  let  me  hear  you  use  it  to  tell  me  what 
worries  you.  If,"  he  added  more  earnestly,  "you  won't 
confide  in  your  physician  —  you  will  perhaps  —  to  —  to  — 
a  — friend. " 

But  Mrs.  MacGlowrie,  evading  his  earnest  eyes  as  well 
as  his  appeal,  was  wondering  what  good  it  would  do  either 
a  doctor,  or  —  a  —  a  —  she  herself  seemed  to  hesitate  over 


110  MR.    MACGLOWRIE'S   WIDOW 

the  word  —  "a  friend,  to  hear  the  worriments  of  a  silly, 
nervous  old  thing  —  who  had  only  stuck  a  little  too  closely 
to  her  business." 

"You  are  neither  nervous  nor  old,  Mrs.  MacGlowrie," 
said  the  doctor  promptly,  "though  I  begin  to  think  you  have 
been  too  closely  confined  here.  You  want  more  diversion, 
or  —  excitement.  You  might  even  go  to  hear  this  preacher  " 
—  he  stopped,  for  the  word  had  slipped  from  his  mouth 
unawares. 

But  a  swift  look  of  scorn  swept  her  pale  face.  "And 
you  'd  like  me  to  follow  those  skinny  old  frumps  and  leggy, 
limp  chits,  that  slobber  and  cry  over  that  man ! "  she  said 
contemptuously.  "No!  I  reckon  I  only  want  a  change  — 
and  I  '11  go  away,  or  get  out  of  this  for  a  while." 

The  poor  doctor  had  not  thought  of  this  possible  alterna 
tive.  His  heart  sank,  but  he  was  brave.  "  Yes,  perhaps 
you  are  right, "  he  said  sadly,  "  though  it  would  be  a  dread 
ful  loss  —  to  Laurel  Spring  —  to  us  all  —  if  you  went. " 

"  Do  I  look  so  very  bad,  doctor  ? "  she  said,  with  a  half- 
mischievous,  half-pathetic  smile. 

The  doctor  thought  her  upturned  face  very  adorable,  but 
restrained  his  feelings  heroically,  and  contented  himself  with 
replying  to  the  pathetic  half  of  her  smile.  "  You  look  as  if 
you  had  been  suffering,"  he  said  gravely,  "and  I  never  saw 
you  look  so  before.  You  seem  as  if  you  had  experienced 
some  great  shock.  Do  you  know,"  he  went  on,  in  a  lower 
tone  and  with  a  half-embarrassed  smile,  "  that  when  I  saw 
you  just  now  in  the  garden,  you  looked  as  I  imagined  you 
might  have  looked  in  the  first  days  of  your  widowhood  — 
when  your  husband's  death  was  fresh  in  your  heart." 

A  strange  expression  crossed  her  face.  Her  eyelids 
dropped  instantly,  and  with  both  hands  she  caught  up  her 
frilled  apron  as  if  to  meet  them  and  covered  her  face.  A 
little  shudder  seemed  to  pass  over  her  shoulders,  jind  then 
a  cry  that  ended  in  an  uncontrollable  and  half-hysterical 


MR.  MACGLOWRIE'S  WIDOW  111 

laugh  followed  from  the  depths  of  that  apron,  until  shak 
ing  her  sides,  and  with  her  head  still  enveloped  in  its  cover 
ing,  she  fairly  ran  into  the  inner  room  and  closed  the  door 
behind  her. 

Amazed,  shocked,  and  at  first  indignant,  Dr.  Blair  re 
mained  fixed  to  the  spot.  Then  his  indignation  gave  way 
to  a  burning  mortification  as  he  recalled  his  speech.  He 
had  made  a  frightful  faux  pas  !  He  had  been  fool  enough 
to  try  to  recall  the  most  sacred  memories  of  that  dead 
husband  he  was  trying  to  succeed  —  and  her  quick  wo 
man's  wit  had  detected  his  ridiculous  stupidity.  Her  laugh 
was  hysterical  —  but  that  was  only  natural  in  her  mixed 
emotions.  He  mounted  his  horse  in  confusion  and  rode 
away. 

For  a  few  days  he  avoided  the  house.  But  when  he  next 
saw  her  she  had  a  charming  smile,  of  greeting  and  an  air  of 
entire  obliviousness  of  his  past  blunder.  She  said  she  was 
better.  She  had  taken  his  advice  and  was  giving  herself 
some  relaxation  from  business.  She  had  been  riding  again 

—  oh,  so  far !     Alone  1  —  of  course ;  she  was  always  alone 

—  else  what  would  Laurel  Spring  say  ? 

"True,"  said  Blair  smilingly;  "besides,  I  forgot  that  you 
are  quite  able  to  take  care  of  yourself  in  an  emergency. 
And  yet,"  he  added,  admiringly  looking  at  her  lithe  figure 
and  indolent  grace,  "  do  you  know  I  never  can  associate  you 
with  the  dreadful  scenes  they  say  you  have  gone  through." 

"Then  please  don't!"  she  said  quickly;  "really,  I'd 
rather  you  would  n't.  I  'm  sick  and  tired  of  hearing  of 
it !  "  She  was  half  laughing  and  yet  half  in  earnest,  with 
a  slight  color  on  her  cheek. 

Blair  was  a  little  embarrassed.  "Of  course,  I  don't  mean 
your  heroism  —  like  that  story  of  the  intruder  and  the  scis 
sors,"  he  stammered. 

"Oh,  that's  the  worst  of  all!  It's  too  foolish  —  it's 
sickening !"  she  went  on  almost  angrily.  "I  don't  know 


112  MR.    MACGLOWRIE'S   WIDOW 

who  started  that  stuff. "  She  paused,  and  then  added  shyly, 
"I  really  am  an  awful  coward  and  horribly  nervous  —  as 
you  know." 

He  would  have  combated  this  —  but  she  looked  really 
disturbed,  and  he  had  no  desire  to  commit  another  impru 
dence.  And  he  thought,  too,  that  he  again  had  seen  in  her 
eyes  the  same  hopeful,  wistful  light  he  had  once  seen  be 
fore,  and  was  happy. 

This  led  him,  I  fear,  to  indulge  in  wilder  dreams.  His 
practice,  although  increasing,  barely  supported  him,  and  the 
widow  was  rich.  Her  business  had  been  profitable,  and  she 
had  repaid  the  advances  made  her  when  she  first  took  the 
hotel.  But  this  disparity  in  their  fortunes  which  had 
frightened  him  before  now  had  no  fears  for  him.  He  felt 
that  if  he  succeeded  in  winning  her  affections  she  could  af 
ford  to  wait  for  him,  despite  other  suitors,  until  his  talents 
had  won  an  equal  position.  His  rivals  had  always  felt  as 
secure  in  his  poverty  as  they  had  in  his  peaceful  profession. 
How  could  a  poor,  simple  doctor  aspire  to  the  hand  of  the 
rich  widow  of  the  redoubtable  MacGlowrie? 

It  was  late  one  afternoon,  and  the  low  sun  was  beginning 
to  strike  athwart  the  stark  columns  and  down  the  long  aisles 
of  the  redwoods  on  the  High  Bidge.  The  doctor,  returning 
from  a  patient  at  the  loggers'  camp  in  its  depths,  had  just 
sighted  the  smaller  groves  of  Laurel  Springs,  two  miles 
away.  He  was  riding  fast,  with  his  thoughts  filled  with 
the  widow,  when  he  heard  a  joyous  bark  in  the  underbrush, 
and  Fluffy  came  bounding  towards  him.  Blair  dismounted 
to  caress  him,  as  was  his  wont,  and  then,  wisely  conceiving 
that  his  mistress  was  not  far  away,  sauntered  forward  ex- 
ploringly,  leading  his  horse,  the  dog  bounding  before  him 
and  barking,  as  if  bent  upon  both  leading  and  announcing 
him.  But  the  latter  he  effected  first,  for  as  Blair  turned 
from  the  trail  into  the  deeper  woods,  he  saw  the  figures  of 
a  man  and  woman  walking  together  suddenly  separate  at  the 


ME.  MACGLOWRIE'S   WIDOW  113 

dog's  warning.  The  woman  was  Mrs.  MacGlowrie  —  the 
man  was  the  revival  preacher! 

Amazed,  mystified,  and  indignant,  Blair  nevertheless 
obeyed  his  first  instinct,  which  was  that  of  a  gentleman. 
He  turned  leisurely  aside  as  if  not  recognizing  them,  led  his 
horse  a  few  paces  further,  mounted  him,  and  galloped  away 
without  turning  his  head.  But  his  heart  was  filled  with 
bitterness  and  disgust.  This  woman  —  who  but  a  few 
days  before  had  voluntarily  declared  her  scorn  and  contempt 
for  that  man  and  his  admirers  —  had  just  been  giving  him 
a  clandestine  meeting  like  one  of  the  most  infatuated  of  his 
devotees!  The  story  of  the  widow's  fainting,  the  coarse 
surmises  and  comments  of  Slocum,  came  back  to  him  with 
overwhelming  significance.  But  even  then  his  reason  for 
bade  him  to  believe  that  she  had  fallen  under  the  preacher's 
influence  —  she,  with  her  sane  mind  and  indolent  tempera 
ment.  Yet,  whatever  her  excuse  or  purpose  was,  she  had 
deceived  him  wantonly  and  cruelly !  His  abrupt  avoidance 
of  her  had  prevented  him  from  knowing  if  she,  on  her  part, 
had  recognized  him  as  he  rode  away.  If  she  had,  she  would 
understand  why  he  had  avoided  her,  and  any  explanation 
must  come  from  her. 

Then  followed  a  few  days  of  uncertainty,  when  his 
thoughts  again  reverted  to  the  preacher  with  returning  jeal 
ousy.  Was  she,  after  all,  like  other  women,  and  had  her 
gratuitous  outburst  of  scorn  of  their  infatuation  been 
prompted  by  unsuccessful  rivalry  1  He  was  too  proud  to 
question  Slocum  again  or  breathe  a  word  of  his  fears.  Yet 
he  was  not  strong  enough  to  keep  from  again  seeking  the 
High  Bidge,  to  discover  any  repetition  of  that  rendezvous. 
But  he  saw  her  neither  there,  nor  elsewhere,  during  his 
daily  rounds.  And  one  night  his  feverish  anxiety  getting 
the  better  of  him,  he  entered  the  great  "Gospel  Tent"  of 
the  revival  preacher. 

It  chanced  to  be  an  extraordinary  meeting,  and  the  usual 


114  MR.  MACGLOWRIE'S  WIDOW 

enthusiastic  audience  was  reinforced  by  some  sight-seers  from 
the  neighboring  county  town  —  the  district  judge  and  offi 
cials  from  the  court  in  session,  among  them  Colonel  Star- 
bottle.  The  impassioned  revivalist  —  his  eyes  ablaze  with 
fever,  his  lank  hair  wet  with  perspiration,  hanging  beside 
his  heavy  but  weak  jaws  —  was  concluding  a  fervent  exhor 
tation  to  his  auditors  to  confess  their  sins,  "accept  convic 
tion,  "  and  regenerate  then  and  there,  without  delay.  They 
must  put  off  "the  old  Adam,"  and  put  on  the  flesh  of 
righteousness  at  once !  They  were  to  let  no  false  shame  or 
worldly  pride  keep  them  from  avowing  their  guilty  past  be 
fore  their  brethren.  Sobs  and  groans  followed  the  preacher's 
appeals ;  his  own  agitation  and  convulsive  efforts  seemed  to 
spread  in  surging  waves  through  the  congregation,  until  a 
dozen  men  and  women  arose,  staggering  like  drunkards 
blindly,  or  led  or  dragged  forward  by  sobbing  sympathizers 
towards  the  mourners'  bench.  And  prominent  among  them, 
but  stepping  jauntily  and  airily  forward,  was  the  redoubt 
able  and  worldly  Colonel  Starbottle ! 

At  this  proof  of  the  orator's  power  the  crowd  shouted  — 
but  stopped  suddenly,  as  the  colonel  halted  before  the 
preacher,  and  ascended  the  rostrum  beside  him.  Then  tak 
ing  a  slight  pose  with  his  gold-headed  cane  in  one  hand  and 
the  other  thrust  in  the  breast  of  his  buttoned  coat,  he  said 
in  his  blandest,  forensic  voice :  — 

"  If  I  mistake  not,  sir,  you  are  advising  these  ladies  and 
gentlemen  to  a  free  and  public  confession  of  their  sins  and 
a  —  er  —  denunciation  of  their  past  life  —  previous  to  their 
conversion.  If  I  am  mistaken  I  —  er  —  ask  your  pardon, 
and  theirs  —  and  —  er  —  hold  myself  responsible  —  er  — 
personally  responsible ! " 

The  preacher  glanced  uneasily  at  the  colonel,  but  replied, 
still  in  the  hysterical  intonation  of  his  exordium :  — 

"  Yes !  a  complete  searching  of  hearts  —  a  casting  out  of 
the  seven  Devils  of  Pride,  Vain  Glory  "  — 


MR.   MACGLOWRIE'S   WIDOW  115 

"Thank  you — that  is  sufficient,"  said  the  colonel 
blandly.  "  But  might  I  —  er  —  be  permitted  to  suggest 
that  you  —  er  —  er  —  set  them  the  example  !  The  state 
ment  of  the  circumstances  attending  your  own  past  life  and 
conversion  would  be  singularly  interesting  and  exemplary. " 

The  preacher  turned  suddenly  and  glanced  at  the  colonel 
with  furious  eyes  set  in  an  ashy  face. 

"If  this  is  the  flouting  and  jeering  of  the  Ungodly  and 
Dissolute,"  he  screamed,  "woe  to  you!  I  say  —  woe  to 
you !  What  have  such  as  you  to  do  with  my  previous  state 
of  unregeneracy  ? " 

"Nothing,"  said  the  colonel  blandly,  "unless  that  state 
were  also  the  State  of  Arkansas  !  Then,  sir,  as  a  former 
member  of  the  Arkansas  Bar  —  I  might  be  able  to  assist 
your  memory  —  and  —  er  —  even  corroborate  your  confes 
sion." 

But  here  the  enthusiastic  adherents  of  the  preacher, 
vaguely  conscious  of  some  danger  to  their  idol,  gathered 
threateningly  round  the  platform  from  which  he  had 
promptly  leaped  into  their  midst,  leaving  the  colonel  alone, 
to  face  the  sea  of  angry  upturned  faces.  But  that  gallant 
warrior  never  altered  his  characteristic  pose.  Behind  him 
loomed  the  reputation  of  the  dozen  duels  he  had  fought,  the 
gold-headed  stick  on  which  he  leaned  was  believed  to  con 
tain  eighteen  inches  of  shining  steel  —  and  the  people  of 
Laurel  Spring  had  discretion. 

He  smiled  suavely,  stepped  jauntily  down,  and  made  his 
way  to  the  entrance  without  molestation. 

But  here  he  was  met  by  Blair  and  Slocum,  and  a  dozen 
eager  questions :  — 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  "  What  had  he  done  1 "  "  Who  was 
he?" 

"A  blank  shyster,  who  had  swindled  the  widows  and 
orphans  in  Arkansas  and  escaped  from  jail." 

"And  his  name  is  n't  Brown  ?  " 


116  MR.    MACGLOWRIE'S  WIDOW 

"No,"  said  the  colonel  curtly. 

"What  is  it?" 

"That  is  a  matter  which  concerns  only  myself  and  him, 
sir,"  said  the  colonel  loftily;  "but  for  which  I  ani  —  er  — 
personally  responsible. " 

A  wild  idea  took  possession  of  Blair. 

"And  you  say  he  was  a  noted  desperado?  "  he  said  with 
nervous  hesitation. 

The  colonel  glared. 

"  Desperado,  sir !  Never !  Blank  it  all !  —  a  mean,  psalm- 
singing,  crawling,  sneak  thief !  " 

And  Blair  felt  relieved  without  knowing  exactly  why. 

The  next  day  it  was  known  that  the  preacher,  Gabriel 
Brown,  had  left  Laurel  Spring  on  an  urgent  "  Gospel  Call " 
elsewhere. 

Colonel  Starbottle  returned  that  night  with  his  friends  to 
the  county  town.  Strange  to  say,  a  majority  of  the  audience 
had  not  grasped  the  full  significance  of  the  colonel's  un 
seemly  interruption,  and  those  who  had,  as  partisans,  kept  it 
quiet.  Blair,  tortured  by  doubt,  had  a  new  delicacy  added 
to  his  hesitation,  which  left  him  helpless  until  the  widow 
should  take  the  initiative  in  explanation. 

A  sudden  summons  from  his  patient  at  the  loggers' 
camp  the  next  day  brought  him  again  to  the  fateful  red 
woods.  But  he  was  vexed  and  mystified  to  find,  on  arriv 
ing  at  the  camp,  that  he  had  been  made  the  victim  of  some 
stupid  blunder,  and  that  no  message  had  been  sent  from 
there.  He  was  returning  abstractedly  through  the  woods 
when  he  was  amazed  at  seeing  at  a  little  distance  before 
him  the  flutter  of  Mrs.  MacGlowrie's  well-known  dark  green 
riding  habit  and  the  figure  of  the  lady  herself.  Her  dog 
was  not  with  her,  neither  was  the  revival  preacher  —  or 
he  might  have  thought  the  whole  vision  a  trick  of  his  mem 
ory.  But  she  slackened  her  pace,  and  he  was  ^bliged  to 
rein  up  abreast  of  her  in  some  confusion. 


MR.  MACGLOWRIE'S  WIDOW  117 

"I  hope  I  won't  shock  you  again  by  riding  alone  through 
the  woods  with  a  man,'7  she  said  with  a  light  laugh. 

Nevertheless,  she  was  quite  pale  as  he  answered,  some 
what  coldly,  that  he  had  no  right  to  be  shocked  at  anything 
she  might  choose  to  do. 

"  But  you  were  shocked,  for  you  rode  away  the  last  time 
without  speaking,"  she  said;  "and  yet"  —  she  looked  up 
suddenly  into  his  eyes  with  a  smileless  face  —  "  that  man 
you  saw  me  with  once  had  a  better  right  to  ride  alone  with 
me  than  any  other  man.  He  was  "  — 

"  Your  lover  1 "  said  Blair  with  brutal  brevity. 

"  My  husband ! "  returned  Mrs.  MacGlowrie  slowly. 

"Then  you  are  not  a  widow,"  gasped  Blair. 

"No.  I  am  only  a  divorced  woman.  That  is  why  I  have 
had  to  live  a  lie  here.  That  man  —  that  hypocrite  —  whose 
secret  was  only  half  exposed  the  other  night,  was  my  hus 
band  —  divorced  from  me  by  the  law,  when,  an  escaped 
convict,  he  fled  with  another  woman  from  the  State  three 
years  ago. "  Her  face  flushed  and  whitened  again ;  she  put 
up  her  hand  blindly  to  her  straying  hair,  and  for  an  instant 
seemed  to  sway  in  the  saddle. 

But  Blair  as  quickly  leaped  from  his  horse,  and  was  be 
side  her.  "Let  me  help  you  down,"  he  said  quickly,  "and 
rest  yourself  until  you  are  better."  Before  she  could  reply, 
he  lifted  her  tenderly  to  the  ground  and  placed  her  on  a 
mossy  stump  a  little  distance  from  the  trail.  Her  color  and 
a  faint  smile  returned  to  her  troubled  face. 

"  Had  we  not  better  go  on  ? "  she  said,  looking  around. 
"  I  never  went  so  far  as  to  sit  down  in  the  woods  with  him 
that  day." 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said  pleadingly,  "but,  of  course,  I 
knew  nothing.  I  disliked  the  man  from  instinct  —  I 
thought  he  had  some  power  over  you." 

"  He  has  none  —  except  the  secret  that  would  also  have 
exposed  himself." 


118  MR.  MACGLOWRIE'S  WIDOW 

"But  others  knew  it.  Colonel  Starbottle  must  have 
known  his  name  ?  And  yet "  —  as  he  remembered  he  stam 
mered —  "he  refused  to  tell  me." 

"Yes,  but  not  because  he  knew  he  was  my  husband,  but 
because  he  knew  he  bore  the  same  name.  He  thinks,  as 
every  one  does,  that  my  husband  died  in  San  Francisco. 
The  man  who  died  there  was  my  husband's  cousin  —  a  des 
perate  man  and  a  noted  duelist." 

"And  you  assumed  to  be  his  widow  ?  "  said  the  astounded 
Blair. 

"Yes,  but  don't  blame  me  too  much,"  she  said  patheti 
cally.  "It  was  a  wild,  a  silly  deceit,  but  it  was  partly 
forced  upon  me.  For  when  I  first  arrived  across  the  plains, 
at  the  frontier,  I  was  still  bearing  my  husband's  name,  and 
although  I  was  alone  and  helpless,  I  found  myself  strangely 
welcomed  and  respected  by  those  rude  frontiersmen.  It  was 
not  long  before  I  saw  it  was  because  I  was  presumed  to  be 
the  widow  of  Allen  MacGlowrie  —  who  had  just  died  in 
San  Francisco.  I  let  them  think  so,  for  I  knew  —  what 
they  did  not  —  that  Allen's  wife  had  separated  from  him 
and  married  again,  and  that  my  taking  his  name  could  do 
no  harm.  I  accepted  their  kindness ;  they  gave  me  my  first 
start  in  business,  which  brought  me  here.  It  was  not  much 
of  a  deceit,"  she  continued,  with  a  slight  tremble  of  her 
pretty  lip,  "to  prefer  to  pass  as  the  widow  of  a  dead  des 
perado  than  to  be  known  as  the  divorced  wife  of  a  living 
convict.  It  has  hurt  no  one,  and  it  has  saved  me  just  now." 

"You  were  right!  No  one  could  blame  you,"  said  Blair 
eagerly,  seizing  her  hand. 

But  she  disengaged  it  gently,  and  went  on :  — 

"  And  now  you  wonder  why  I  gave  him  a  meeting  here  ?  " 

"  I  wonder  at  nothing  but  your  courage  and  patience  in 
all  this  suffering!"  said  Blair  fervently;  "and  at  your  for 
giving  me  for  so  cruelly  misunderstanding  you." 

"  But  you  must  learn  all.     When  I  first  saw  MacGlowrie 


MR.  MACGLOWKIE'S  WIDOW  119 

under  his  assumed  name,  I  fainted,  for  I  was  terrified  and 
believed  he  knew  I  was  here  and  had  come  to  expose  me 
even  at  his  own  risk.  That  was  why  I  hesitated  between 
going  away  or  openly  defying  him.  But  it  appears  he  was 
more  frightened  than  I  at  finding  me  here  —  he  had  sup 
posed  I  had  changed  my  name  after  the  divorce,  and  that 
Mrs.  MacGlowrie,  Laurel  Spring,  was  his  cousin's  widow. 
When  he  found  out  who  I  was  he  was  eager  to  see  me  and 
agree  upon  a  mutual  silence  while  he  was  here.  He  thought 
only  of  himself,"  she  added  scornfully,  "and  Colonel  Star- 
bottle's  recognition  of  him  that  night  as  the  convicted  swin 
dler  was  enough  to  put  him  to  flight. " 

"And  the  colonel  never  suspected  that  you  were  his 
wife  1 "  said  Blair. 

"Never!  He  supposed  from  the  name  that  he  was  some 
relation  of  my  husband,  and  that  was  why  he  refused  to  tell 
it  —  for  my  sake.  The  colonel  is  an  old  fogy  —  and  pom 
pous  —  but  a  gentleman  —  as  good  as  they  make  them !  " 

A  slightly  jealous  uneasiness  and  a  greater  sense  of  shame 
came  over  Blair. 

"I  seem  to  have  been  the  only  one  who  suspected  and 
did  not  aid  you,"  he  said  sadly, "and  yet  God  knows"  — 

The  widow  had  put  up  her  slim  hand  in  half-smiling, 
half-pathetic  interruption. 

"  Wait !  I  have  not  told  you  everything.  When  I  took 
over  the  responsibility  of  being  Allen  MacGlowrie's  widow, 
I  had  to  take  over  her  relations  and  her  history  as  I  gath 
ered  it  from  the  frontiersmen.  /  never  frightened  any 
grizzly  —  /never  jabbed  anybody  with  the  scissors;  it  was 
she  who  did  it.  I  never  was  among  the  Injins  —  I  never 
had  any  fighting  relations ;  my  paw  was  a  plain  farmer.  I 
was  only  a  peaceful  Blue  Grass  girl  —  there !  I  never 
thought  there  was  any  harm  in  it;  it  seemed  to  keep  the 
men  off,  and  leave  me  free  —  until  I  knew  you!  And  you 
know  I  didn't  want  you  to  believe  it  —  don't  you? " 


120  MR.  MACGLOWRIE'S  WIDOW 

She  hid  her  flushed  face  and  dimples  in  her  handkerchief. 

"  But  did  you  never  think  there  might  be  another  way  to 
keep  the  men  off,  and  sink  the  name  of  MacGlowrie  for 
ever  1 "  said  Blair  in  a  lower  voice. 

"I  think  we  must  be  going  back  now,"  said  the  widow 
timidly,  withdrawing  her  hand,  which  Blair  had  again  mys 
teriously  got  possession  of  in  her  confusion. 

"But  wait  just  a  few  minutes  longer  to  keep  me  com 
pany,"  said  Blair  pleadingly.  "I  came  here  to  see  a  pa 
tient,  and  as  there  must  have  been  some  mistake  in  the 
message  —  I  must  try  to  discover  it. " 

"  Oh !  Is  that  all  ?  »  said  the  widow  quickly.  "  Why  1 » 
—  she  flushed  again  and  laughed  faintly  —  "  Well !  I  am 
that  patient!  I  wanted  to  see  you  alone  to  explain  every 
thing,  and  I  could  think  of  no  other  way.  I  'm  afraid  I  've 
got  into  the  habit  of  thinking  nothing  of  being  somebody 
else." 

"I  wish  you  would  let  me  select  who  you  should  be," 
said  the  doctor  boldly. 

"We  really  must  go  back  —  to  the  horses,"  said  the 
widow. 

"Agreed  —  if  we  will  ride  home  together." 

They  did.  And  before  the  year  was  over,  although  they 
both  remained,  the  name  of  MacGlowrie  had  passed  out  of 
Laurel  Spring. 


A  WARD  OF  COLONEL  STARBOTTLE'S 


A  WAED   OF   COLONEL   STABBOTTLE'S 

"THE  kernel  seems  a  little  off  color  to-day,"  said  the  bar 
keeper  as  he  replaced  the  whiskey  decanter,  and  gazed  re 
flectively  after  the  departing  figure  of  Colonel  Starbottle. 

"I  did  n't  notice  anything,"  said  a  bystander;  "he  passed 
the  time  o'  day  civil  enough  to  me." 

"Oh,  he  's  allus  polite  enough  to  strangers  and  wimmin 
folk  even  when  he  is  that  way;  it 's  only  his  old  chums,  or 
them  ez  like  to  be  thought  so,  that  he  's  peppery  with. 
Why,  ez  to  that,  after  he  'd  had  that  quo '11  with  his  old 
partner,  Judge  Pratt,  in  one  o'  them  spells,  I  saw  him  the 
next  minit  go  half  a  block  out  of  his  way  to  direct  an  entire 
stranger;  and  ez  for  wimmin!  —  well,  I  reckon  if  he  'd  just 
got  a  bead  drawn  on  a  man,  and  a  woman  spoke  to  him, 
he  'd  drop  his  battery  and  take  off  his  hat  to  her.  No  — 
ye  can't  judge  by  that!  " 

And  perhaps  in  his  larger  experience  the  barkeeper  was 
right.  He  might  have  added,  too,  that  the  colonel,  in  his 
general  outward  bearing  and  jauntiness,  gave  no  indication 
of  his  internal  irritation.  Yet  he  was  undoubtedly  in  one 
of  his  "spells,"  suffering  from  a  moody  cynicism  which  made 
him  as  susceptible  of  affront  as  he  was  dangerous  in  resent 
ment. 

Luckily,  on  this  particular  morning  he  reached  his  office 
and  entered  his  private  room  without  any  serious  rencontre. 
Here  he  opened  his  desk,  and  arranging  his  papers,  he  at 
once  set  to  work  with  grim  persistency.  He  had  not  been 
occupied  for  many  minutes  before  the  door  opened  to  Mr. 
Pyecroft  —  one  of  a  firm  of  attorneys  who  undertook  the 
colonel's  office  work. 


124  A  WARD   OF  COLONEL  STARBOTTLE'S 

"I  see  you  are  early  to  work,  Colonel,"  said  Mr.  Pye- 
croft  cheerfully. 

"You  see,  sir,"  said  the  colonel,  correcting  him  with  a 
slow  deliberation  that  boded  no  good  —  "  you  see  a  Southern 
gentleman  —  blank  it !  —  who  has  stood  at  the  head  of  his 
profession  for  thirty-five  years,  obliged  to  work  like  a  blank 
nigger,  sir,  in  the  dirty  squabbles  of  psalm-singing  Yankee 
traders,  instead  of  —  er  —  attending  to  the  affairs  of  —  er 
—  legislation ! " 

"  But  you  manage  to  get  pretty  good  fees  out  of  it  —  eh, 
Colonel  ?  "  continued  Pyecroft,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Fees,  sir !  Filthy  shekels !  and  barely  enough  to  satisfy 
a  debt  of  honor  with  one  hand,  and  wipe  out  a  tavern  score 
for  the  entertainment  of  —  er  —  a  few  lady  friends  with  the 
other!" 

This  allusion  to  his  losses  at  poker,  as  well  as  an  oyster 
supper  given  to  the  two  principal  actresses  of  the  "North 
Star  Troupe,"  then  performing  in  the  town,  convinced  Mr. 
Pyecroft  that  the  colonel  was  in  one  of  his  "moods,"  and 
he  changed  the  subject. 

"That  reminds  me  of  a  little  joke  that  happened  in  Sac 
ramento  last  week.  You  remember  Dick  Stannard,  who 
died  a  year  ago  —  one  of  your  friends  1  " 

"I  have  yet  to  learn,"  interrupted  the  colonel,  with  the 
same  deadly  deliberation,  "what  right  he  —  or  anybody  — 
had  to  intimate  that  he  held  such  a  relationship  with  me. 
Am  I  to  understand,  sir,  that  he  —  er  —  publicly  boasted 
of  it?" 

"Don't  know !  "  resumed  Pyecroft  hastily ;  "  but  it  don't 
matter,  for  if  he  was  n't  a  friend  it  only  makes  the  joke 
bigger.  Well,  his  widow  did  n't  survive  him  long,  but  died 
in  the  States  t'  other  day,  leavin'  the  property  in  Sacra 
mento  —  worth  about  three  thousand  dollars  —  to  her  little 
girl,  who  is  at  school  at  Santa  Clara.  The  questior^of  guard 
ianship  came  up,  and  it  appears  that  the  widow  —  who  only 


A   WARD   OF  COLONEL  STARBOTTLE'S  125 

knew  you  through  her  husband  —  had,  some  time  before 
her  death,  mentioned  your  name  in  that  connection !  He ! 
he!" 

"  What!  "  said  Colonel  Starbottle,  starting  up. 

"  Hold  on !  "  said  Pyecroft  hilariously.  "  That  is  n't  all ! 
Neither  the  executors  nor  the  probate  judge  knew  you  from 
Adam,  and  the  Sacramento  bar,  scenting  a  good  joke,  lay 
low  and  said  nothing.  Then  the  old  fool  judge  said  that 
'  as  you  appeared  to  be  a  lawyer,  a  man  of  mature  years, 
and  a  friend  of  the  family,  you  were  an  eminently  fit  per 
son,  and  ought  to  be  communicated  with  '  —  you  know  his 
hifalutin'  style.  Nobody  says  anything.  So  that  the  next 
thing  you  '11  know  you  '11  get  a  letter  from  that  executor 
asking  you  to  look  after  that  kid.  Ha !  ha !  The  boys  said 
they  could  fancy  they  saw  you  trotting  around  with  a  ten 
year  old  girl  holding  on  to  your  hand,  and  the  Seiiorita  Do 
lores  or  Miss  Bellamont  looking  on !  Or  your  being  called 
away  from  a  poker  deal  some  night  by  the  infant,  singing, 
'  Gardy,  dear  gardy,  come  home  with  me  now,  the  clock  in 
the  steeple  strikes  one ! '  And  think  of  that  old  fool  judge 
not  knowing  you !  Ha !  ha !  " 

A  study  of  Colonel  Starbottle 's  face  during  this  speech 
would  have  puzzled  a  better  physiognomist  than  Mr.  Pye 
croft.  His  first  look  of  astonishment  gave  way  to  an  em 
purpled  confusion,  from  which  a  single  short  Silenus-like 
chuckle  escaped,  but  this  quickly  changed  again  into  a  dull 
coppery  indignation,  and,  as  Pyecroft's  laugh  continued, 
faded  out  into  a  sallow  rigidity  in  which  his  murky  eyes 
alone  seemed  to  keep  what  was  left  of  his  previous  high 
color.  But  what  was  more  singular,  in  spite  of  his  enforced 
calm,  something  of  his  habitual  old-fashioned  loftiness  and 
oratorical  exaltation  appeared  to  be  returning  to  him  as  he 
placed  his  hand  on  his  inflated  breast  and  faced  Pyecroft. 

"  The  ignorance  of  the  executor  of  Mrs.  Stannard  and  the 
—  er  —  probate  judge,"  he  began  slowly,  "may  be  pardon- 


126  A  WARD   OF  COLONEL   STARBOTTLE'S 

able,  Mr.  Pyecroft,  since  his  Honor  would  imply  that,  al 
though  unknown  to  him  personally,  I  am  at  least  amicus 
curice  in  this  question  of  —  er  —  guardianship.  But  I  am 
grieved  —  indeed  I  may  say  shocked  —  Mr.  Pyecroft,  that 
the  —  er  —  last  sacred  trust  of  a  dying  widow  —  perhaps  the 
holiest  trust  that  can  be  conceived  by  man  —  the  care  and 
welfare  of  her  helpless  orphaned  girl  —  should  be  made  the 
subject  of  mirth,  sir,  by  yourself  and  the  members  of  the 
Sacramento  bar !  I  shall  not  allude,  sir,  to  my  own  feelings 
in  regard  to  Dick  Stannard,  one  of  my  most  cherished 
friends,"  continued  the  colonel,  in  a  voice  charged  with 
emotion,  "but  I  can  conceive  of  no  nobler  trust  laid  upon 
the  altar  of  friendship  than  the  care  and  guidance  of  his  or 
phaned  girl !  And  if,  as  you  tell  me,  the  utterly  inadequate 
sum  of  three  thousand  dollars  is  all  that  is  left  for  her  main 
tenance  through  life,  the  selection  of  a  guardian  sufficiently 
devoted  to  the  family  to  be  willing  to  augment  that  pittance 
out  of  his  own  means  from  time  to  time  would  seem  to  be 
most  important." 

Before  the  astounded  Pyecroft  could  recover  himself, 
Colonel  Starbottle  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  half  closing  his 
eyes,  and  abandoned  himself,  quite  after  his  old  manner,  to 
one  of  his  dreamy  reminiscences. 

"  Poor  Dick  Stannard !  I  have  a  vivid  recollection,  sir, 
of  driving  out  with  him  on  the  Shell  Road  at  New  Orleans 
in  '54,  and  of  his  saying,  '  Star  '  — the  only  man,  sir,  who 
ever  abbreviated  my  name  — '  Star,  if  anything  happens  to 
me  or  her,  look  after  our  child ! '  It  was  during  that  very 
drive,  sir,  that,  through  his  incautious  neglect  to  fortify 
himself  against  the  swampy  malaria  by  a  glass  of  straight 
Bourbon  with  a  pinch  of  bark  in  it,  he  caught  that  fever 
which  undermined  his  constitution.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Pye 
croft,  for  —  er  —  recalling  the  circumstance.  I  shall,"  con 
tinued  the  colonel,  suddenly  abandoning  reminiscence,  sit 
ting  up,  and  arranging  his  papers,  "  look  forward  with  great 
interest  to  —  er  —  letter  from  the  executor. " 


A   WARD   OF  COLONEL   STARBOTTLE'S  127 

The  next  day  it  was  universally  understood  that  Colonel 
Starbottle  had  been  appointed  guardian  of  Pansy  Stannard 
by  the  probate  judge  of  Sacramento. 

There  are  of  record  two  distinct  accounts  of  Colonel  Star- 
bottle's  first  meeting  with  his  ward  after  his  appointment  as 
her  guardian.  One,  given  by  himself,  varying  slightly  at 
times,  but  always  bearing  unvarying  compliment  to  the 
grace,  beauty,  and  singular  accomplishments  of  this  appar 
ently  gifted  child,  was  nevertheless  characterized  more  by 
vague,  dreamy  reminiscences  of  the  departed  parents  than 
by  any  personal  experience  of  the  daughter. 

"I  found  the  young  lady,  sir,"  he  remarked  to  Mr.  Pye- 
croft,  "recalling  my  cherished  friend  Stannard  in  —  er  — 
form  and  features,  and  —  although  —  er  —  personally  unac 
quainted  with  her  deceased  mother  —  who  belonged,  sir,  to 
one  of  the  first  families  of  Virginia  —  I  am  told  that  she 
is  —  er  —  remarkably  like  her.  Miss  Stannard  is  at  present 
a  pupil  in  one  of  the  best  educational  establishments  in 
Santa  Clara,  where  she  is  receiving  tuition  in  —  er  —  the 
English  classics,  foreign -belles  lettres,  embroidery,  the  harp, 
and  —  er  —  the  use  of  the  —  er  —  globes,  and  —  er  —  black 
board  —  under  the  most  fastidious  care,  and  my  own  per 
sonal  supervision.  The  principal  of  the  school,  Miss  Eu- 
doxia  Tish  —  associated  with  —  er  —  er  —  Miss  Prinkwell 
—  is  —  er  —  remarkably  gifted  woman ;  and  as  I  was  pre 
sent  at  one  of  the  school  exercises,  I  had  the  opportunity  of 
testifying  to  her  excellence  in  —  er  —  short  address  I  made 
to  the  young  ladies."  From  such  glittering  but  unsatisfy 
ing  generalities  as  these  I  prefer  to  turn  to  the  real  inter 
view,  gathered  from  contemporary  witnesses. 

It  was  the  usual  cloudless,  dazzling,  Californian  summer 
day,  tempered  with  the  asperity  of  the  northwest  trades,  that 
Miss  Tish,  looking  through  her  window  towards  the  rose- 
embowered  gateway  of  the  seminary,  saw  an  extraordinary 


128  A  WARD   OF  COLONEL  STARBOTTLE'S 

figure  advancing  up  the  avenue.  It  was  that  of  a  man  slightly 
past  middle  age,  yet  erect  and  jaunty,  whose  costume  re 
called  the  early  water-color  portraits  of  her  own  youthful 
days.  His  tightly  buttoned  blue  frock  coat  with  gilt  buttons 
was  opened  far  enough  across  the  chest  to  allow  the  expand 
ing  of  a  frilled  shirt,  black  stock,  and  nankeen  waistcoat, 
and  his  immaculate  white  trousers  were  smartly  strapped 
over  his  smart  varnished  boots.  A  white  bell-crowned  hat, 
carried  in  his  hand  to  permit  the  wiping  of  his  forehead  with 
a  silk  handkerchief,  and  a  gold-headed  walking  stick  hooked 
over  his  arm,  completed  this  singular  equipment.  He  was 
followed,  a  few  paces  in  the  rear,  by  a  negro  carrying  an 
enormous  bouquet,  and  a  number  of  small  boxes  and  parcels 
tied  up  with  ribbons.  As  the  figure  paused  before  the  door, 
Miss  Tish  gasped,  and  cast  a  quick  restraining  glance  around 
the  classroom.  But  it  was  too  late;  a  dozen  pairs  of  blue, 
black,  round,  inquiring,  or  mischievous  eyes  were  already 
dancing  and  gloating  over  the  bizarre  stranger  through  the 
window. 

"  A  cirkiss  —  or  nigger  minstrels  —  sure  as  you  're  born !  " 
said  Mary  Frost,  aged  nine,  in  a  fierce  whisper. 

"No!  —  a  agent  from  *  The  Emporium/  with  samples," 
returned  Miss  Briggs,  aged  fourteen. 

"Young  ladies,  attend  to  your  studies,"  said  Miss  Tish, 
as  the  servant  brought  in  a  card.  Miss  Tish  glanced  at  it 
with  some  nervousness,  and  read  to  herself,  "Colonel  Cul- 
peper  Starbottle,"  engraved  in  script,  and  below  it  in  pen 
cil,  "To  see  Miss  Pansy  Stannard,  under  favor  of  Miss 
Tish. "  Rising  with  some  perturbation,  Miss  Tish  hurriedly 
intrusted  the  class  to  an  assistant,  and  descended  to  the  re 
ception  room.  She  had  never  seen  Pansy's  guardian  before 
(the  executor  had  brought  the  child) ;  and  this  extraordinary 
creature,  whose  visit  she  could  not  deny,  might  be  ruinous 
to  school  discipline.  It  was  therefore  with  an  extra  degree 
of  frigidity  of  demeanor  that  she  threw  open  the  door  6T  the 


A  WARD   OF  COLONEL   STARBOTTLE'S  129 

reception  room,  and  entered  majestically.  But  to  her  utter 
astonishment,  the  colonel  met  her  with  a  bow  so  stately,  so 
ceremonious,  and  so  commanding  that  she  stopped,  disarmed 
and  speechless. 

"I  need  not  ask  if  I  am  addressing  Miss  Tish,"  said  the 
colonel  loftily,  "for  without  having  the  pleasure  of  —  er  — 
previous  acquaintance,  I  can  at  once  recognize  the  —  er  — 
Lady  Superior  and  —  er  —  chatelaine  of  this  —  er  —  estab 
lishment.  "  Miss  Tish  here  gave  way  to  a  slight  cough  and 
an  embarrassed  curtsy,  as  the  colonel,  with  a  wave  of  his 
white  hand  towards  the  burden  carried  by  his  follower,  re 
sumed  more  lightly :  "  I  have  brought  —  er  —  few  trifles  and 
gewgaws  for  my  ward  —  subject,  of  course,  to  your  rules  and 
discretion.  They  include  some  —  er  —  dainties,  free  from 
any  deleterious  substance,  as  I  am  informed  —  a  sash  —  a 
ribbon  or  two  for  the  hair,  gloves,  mittens,  and  a  nosegay 
—  from  which,  I  trust,  it  will  be  her  pleasure,  as  it  is  my 
own,  to  invite  you  to  cull  such  blossoms  as  may  suit  your 
taste.  Boy,  you  may  set  them  down  and  retire !  " 

"At  the  present  moment,"  stammered  Miss  Tish,  "Miss 
Stannard  is  engaged  on  her  lessons.  But "  —  She  stopped 
again,  hopelessly. 

"I  see,"  said  the  colonel,  with  an  air  of  playful,  poetical 
reminiscence  —  "  her  lessons !  Certainly ! 

'We  will — er  —  go  to  our  places, 
With  smiles  on  our  faces, 
And  say  all  our  lessons  distinctly  and  slow.' 

Certainly !  Not  for  worlds  would  I  interrupt  them ;  until 
they  are  done,  we  will  —  er  —  walk  through  the  classrooms 
and  inspect "  — 

"No!  no!"  interrupted  the  horrified  principal,  with  a 

dreadful  presentiment  of  the  appalling  effect  of  the  colonel's 

entry  upon  the  class.    "  No !  —  that  is  —  I  mean  —  our  rules 

exclude  —  except  on  days  of  public  examination  "  — 

'  "Say  no  more,  my  dear  madam,"  said  the  colonel  politely. 


130  A  WARD   OF  COLONEL   STARBOTTLE'S 

"Until  she  is  free  I  will  stroll  outside,  through  —  er  —  the 
groves  of  the  Academus  "  — 

But  Miss  Tish,  equally  alarmed  at  the  diversion  this 
would  create  at  the  classroom  windows,  recalled  herself  with 
an  effort.  "Please  wait  here  a  moment,"  she  said  hurriedly; 
"I  will  bring  her  down;"  and  before  the  colonel  could 
politely  open  the  door  for  her,  she  had  fled. 

Happily  unconscious  of  the  sensation  he  had  caused,  Colo 
nel  Starbottle  seated  himself  on  the  sofa,  his  white  hands 
resting  easily  on  the  gold-headed  cane.  Once  or  twice  the 
door  behind  him  opened  and  closed  quietly,  scarcely  disturb 
ing  him ;  or  again  opened  more  ostentatiously  to  the  words, 
"Oh,  excuse,  please,"  and  the  brief  glimpse  of  a  flaxen 
braid,  or  a  black  curly  head  —  to  all  of  which  the  colonel 
nodded  politely  —  even  rising  later  to  the  apparition  of  a 
taller,  demure  young  lady  —  and  her  more  affected  "Really, 
I  beg  your  pardon !  "  The  only  result  of  this  evident  curi 
osity  was  slightly  to  change  the  colonel's  attitude,  so  as  to 
enable  him  to  put  his  other  hand  in  his  breast  in  his  favor 
ite  pose.  But  presently  he  was  conscious  of  a  more  active 
movement  in  the  hall,  of  the  sounds  of  scuffling,  of  a  high 
youthful  voice  saying  "  I  won't "  and  "  I  shan't !  "  of  the  door 
opening  to  a  momentary  apparition  of  Miss  Tish  dragging  a 
small  hand  and  half  of  a  small  black-ribboned  arm  into  the 
room,  and  her  rapid  disappearance  again,  apparently  pulled 
back  by  the  little  hand  and  arm;  of  another  and  longer 
pause,  of  a  whispered  conference  outside,  and  then  the  reap 
pearance  of  Miss  Tish  majestically,  reinforced  and  supported 
by  the  grim  presence  of  her  partner,  Miss  Prinkwell. 

"  This  —  er  —  unexpected  visit, "  began  Miss  Tish  —  "  not 
previously  arranged  by  letter  "  — 

"Which  is  an  invariable  rule  of  our  establishment,"  sup 
plemented  Miss  Prinkwell  — 

"And  the  fact  that  you  are  personally  unknown  to  us," 
continued  Miss  Tish  — 


A  WARD   OF  COLONEL   STARBQTTLE'S  131 

"An  ignorance  shared  by  the  child,  who  exhibits  a  dis 
taste  for  an  interview,"  interpolated  Miss  Prinkwell,  in  a 
kind  of  antiphonal  response  — 

"For  which  we  have  had  no  time  to  prepare  her,"  con 
tinued  Miss  Tish  — 

"Compels  us  most  reluctantly  "  —  But  here  she  stopped 
short.  Colonel  Starbottle,  who  had  risen  with  a  deep  bow 
at  their  entrance  and  remained  standing,  here  walked  quietly 
towards  them.  His  usually  high  color  had  faded  except 
from  his  eyes,  but  his  exalted  manner  was  still  more  pro 
nounced,  with  a  dreadful  deliberation  superadded. 

"  I  believe  —  er  —  I  had  —  the  honah  —  to  send  up  my 
kyard!  "  (In  his  supreme  moments  the  colonel's  Southern 
accent  was  always  in  evidence.)  "I  may  —  er  —  be  mis 
taken  —  but  —  er  —  that  is  my  impression. "  The  colonel 
paused,  and  placed  his  right  hand  statuesquely  on  his  heart. 

The  two  women  trembled  —  Miss  Tish  fancied  the  very 
shirt  frill  of  the  colonel  was  majestically  erecting  itself  —  as 
they  stammered  in  one  voice,  — 

"Ye-e-es!" 

"That  kyard  contained  my  full  name  —  with  a  request 
to  see  my  ward  —  Miss  Stannard, "  continued  the  colonel 
slowly.  "I  believe  that  is  the  fact." 

"  Certainly !  certainly !  "  gasped  the  women  feebly. 

"  Then  may  I  —  er  —  point  out  to  you  that  I  am  —  er  — 
waiting  ?  " 

Although  nothing  could  exceed  the  laborious  simplicity 
and  husky  sweetness  of  the  colonel's  utterance,  it  appeared 
to  demoralize  utterly  his  two  hearers  —  Miss  Prinkwell 
seemed  to  fade  into  the  pattern  of  the  wall  paper,  Miss  Tish 
to  droop  submissively  forward  like  a  pink  wax  candle  in  the 
rays  of  the  burning  sun. 

"We  will  bring  her  instantly.  A  thousand  pardons,  sir," 
they  uttered  in  the  same  breath,  backing  towards  the  door. 

But  here  the  unexpected  intervened.     Unnoticed  by  the 


132  A  WARD   OF  COLONEL  STARBOTTLE'S 

three  during  the  colloquy,  a  little  figure  in  a  black  dress  had 
peeped  through  the  door,  and  then  glided  into  the  room.  It 
was  a  girl  of  about  ten,  who,  in  all  candor,  could  scarcely 
be  called  pretty,  although  the  awkward  change  of  adoles 
cence  had  not  destroyed  the  delicate  proportions  of  her  hands 
and  feet  nor  the  beauty  of  her  brown  eyes.  These  were, 
just  then,  round  and  wondering,  and  fixed  alternately  on 
the  colonel  and  the  two  women.  But  like  many  other  round 
and  wondering  eyes,  they  had  taken  in  the  full  meaning  of 
the  situation,  with  a  quickness  the  adult  mind  is  not  apt  to 
give  them  credit  for.  They  saw  the  complete  and  utter 
subjugation  of  the  two  supreme  autocrats  of  the  school,  and, 
I  grieve  to  say,  they  were  filled  with  a  secret  and  "  fearful 
joy."  But  the  casual  spectator  saw  none  of  this;  the  round 
and  wondering  eyes,  still  rimmed  with  recent  and  recalci 
trant  tears,  only  looked  big  and  innocently  shining. 

The  relief  of  the  two  women  was  sudden  and  unaffected. 

"Oh,  here  you  are,  dearest,  at  last!"  said  Miss  Tish 
eagerly.  "  This  is  your  guardian,  Colonel  Starbottle.  Come 
to  him,  dear !  " 

She  took  the  hand  of  the  child,  who  hung  back  with  an 
odd  mingling  of  shamefacedness  and  resentment  of  the  inter 
ference,  when  the  voice  of  Colonel  Starbottle,  in  the  same 
deadly  calm  deliberation,  said,  — 

"I  —  er  —  will  speak  with  her  —  alone." 

The  round  eyes  again  saw  the  complete  collapse  of  au 
thority,  as  the  two  women  shrank  back  from  the  voice,  and 
said  hurriedly,  — 

"  Certainly,  Colonel  Starbottle ;  perhaps  it  would  be  bet 
ter,"  and  ingloriously  quitted  the  room. 

But  the  colonel's  triumph  left  him  helpless.  He  was 
alone  with  a  simple  child,  an  unprecedented,  unheard-of 
situation,  which  left  him  embarrassed  and  —  speechless. 
Even  his  vanity  was  conscious  that  his  oratorical  periods, 
his  methods,  his  very  attitude,  were  powerless  here.  The 


A  WARD   OF  COLONEL   STARBOTTLE'S  133 

perspiration  stood  out  on  his  forehead;  he  looked  at  her 
vaguely,  and  essayed  a  feeble  smile.  The  child  saw  his  em 
barrassment,  even  as  she  had  seen  and  understood  his  tri 
umph,  and  the  small  woman  within  her  exulted.  She  put 
her  little  hands  on  her  waist,  and  with  the  fingers  turned 
downwards  and  outwards  pressed  them  down  her  hips  to  her 
bended  knees  until  they  had  forced  her  skirts  into  an  egre 
gious  fullness  before  and  behind,  as  if  she  were  making  a 
curtsy,  and  then  jumped  up  and  laughed. 

"You  did  it!     Hooray!" 

"  Did  what  ? "  said  the  colonel,  pleased  yet  mystified. 

"Frightened  'em!  —  the  two  old  cats!  Frightened  'em 
outen  their  slippers!  Oh,  jiminy!  Never,  never,  NEVER 
before  was  they  so  skeert !  Never  since  school  kept  did  they 
have  to  crawl  like  that !  They  was  skeert  enough  first  when 
you  come,  but  just  now !  —  Lordy !  They  was  n't  a-goin' 
to  let  you  see  me  —  but  they  had  to !  had  to  !  HAD  TO  !  " 
and  she  emphasized  each  repetition  with  a  skip. 

"I  believe  —  er,"  said  the  colonel  blandly,  "that  I  — 
er  —  intimated  with  some  firmness  "  — 

"That 's  it  — just  it!  "  interrupted  the  child  delightedly. 
"  You  —  you  —  overdid  'em !  " 

"What?" 

"  Overdid  'em  !  Don't  you  know?  They  're  always  so 
high  and  mighty!  Kinder  '  Don't  tech  me.  My  mother  's 
an  angel;  my  father's  a  king' — all  that  sort  of  thing. 
They  did  this  "  —  she  drew  herself  up  in  a  presumable  imi 
tation  of  the  two  women's  majestic  entrance  —  "and  then," 
she  continued,  "you  —  you  jest  did  this  "  —  here  she  lifted 
her  chin,  and  puffing  out  her  small  chest,  strode  towards  the 
colonel  in  evident  simulation  of  his  grandest  manner. 

A  short,  deep  chuckle  escaped  him  —  although  the  next 
moment  his  face  became  serious  again.  But  Pansy  in  the 
mean  time  had  taken  possession  of  his  coat  sleeve  and  was 
rubbing  her  cheek  against  it  like  a  young  colt.  At  which 


134  A  WARD   OF  COLONEL  STARBOTTLE'S 

the  colonel  succumbed  feebly  and  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  the 
child  standing  beside  him,  leaning  over  and  transferring  her 
little  hands  to  the  lapels  of  his  frock  coat,  which  she  essayed 
to  button  over  his  chest  as  she  looked  into  his  murky  eyes. 
"The  other  girls  said,"  she  began,  tugging  at  the  button, 
"that  you  was  a  '  cirkiss  '  "  —  another  tug  —  "  '  a  nigger 
minstrel '  "  —  and  a  third  tug —  "  '  a  agent  with  samples  ' 

—  but  that  showed  all  they  knew !  " 

"Ah, "said  the  colonel  with  exaggerated  blandness,  "and 

—  er  —  what  did  you  —  er  —  say  1 " 

The  child  smiled.  "  I  said  you  was  a  Stuffed  Donkey  — 
but  that  was  before  I  knew  you.  I  was  a  little  skeert  too; 
but  now  "  —  she  succeeded  in  buttoning  the  coat  and  mak 
ing  the  colonel  quite  apoplectic,  —  "now  I  ain't  frightened 
one  bit  —  no,  not  one  tiny  bit!  But,"  she  added,  after  a 
pause,  unbuttoning  the  coat  again  and  smoothing  down  the 
lapels  between  her  fingers,  "you  're  to  keep  on  frightening 
the  old  cats  —  mind !  Never  mind  about  the  girls.  I  '11 
tell  them." 

The  colonel  would  have  given  worlds  to  be  able  to  strug 
gle  up  into  an  upright  position  with  suitable  oral  expression. 
Not  that  his  vanity  was  at  all  wounded  by  these  irrespon 
sible  epithets,  which  only  excited  an  amused  wonder,  but 
he  was  conscious  of  an  embarrassed  pleasure  in  the  child's 
caressing  familiarity,  and  her  perfect  trustfulness  in  him 
touched  his  extravagant  chivalry.  He  ought  to  protect  her, 
and  yet  correct  her.  In  the  consciousness  of  these  duties 
he  laid  his  white  hand  upon  her  head.  Alas !  she  lifted  her 
arm  and  instantly  transferred  his  hand  and  part  of  his  arm 
around  her  neck  and  shoulders,  and  comfortably  snuggled 
against  him.  The  colonel  gasped.  Nevertheless,  something 
must  be  said,  and  he  began,  albeit  somewhat  crippled  in 
delivery :  — 

"The  —  er  —  use  of  elegant  and  precise  language  by  — 
er  —  young  ladies  cannot  be  too  sedulously  cultivated  "  — 


A   WARD  OF   COLONEL   STARBOTTLF/S  135 

But  here  the  child  laughed,  and  snuggling  still  closer,  gur 
gled:  "That's  right!  Give  it  to  her  when  she  comes 
down!  That's  the  style!"  and  the  colonel  stopped,  dis 
comfited.  Nevertheless,  there  was  a  certain  wholesome  glow 
in  the  contact  of  this  nestling  little  figure. 

Presently  he  resumed  tentatively:  "I  have  —  er  — 
brought  you  a  few  dainties." 

"Yes,"  said  Pansy,  "I  see;  but  they  're  from  the  wrong 
shop,  you  dear  old  silly !  They  're  from  Tomkins's,  and  we 
girls  just  abominate  his  things.  You  oughter  have  gone  to 
Emmons's.  Never  mind.  I  '11  show  you  when  we  go  out. 
We're  going  out,  are  n't  we?"  she  said  suddenly,  lifting 
her  head  anxiously.  "You  know  it's  allowed,  and  it's 
rights  '  to  parents  and  guardians  ' !  " 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  said  the  colonel.  He  knew  he 
would  feel  a  little  less  constrained  in  the  open  air. 

"Then  we  '11  go  now,"  said  Pansy,  jumping  up.  "I  '11 
just  run  upstairs  and  put  on  my  things.  I  '11  say  it 's  *  or 
ders  '  from  you.  And  I  '11  wear  my  new  frock  —  it 's 
longer. "  (The  colonel  was  slightly  relieved  at  this ;  it  had 
seemed  to  him,  as  a  guardian,  that  there  was  perhaps  an  ab 
normal  display  of  Pansy's  black  stockings.)  "You  wait; 
I  won't  be  long." 

She  darted  to  the  door,  but  reaching  it,  suddenly  stopped, 
returned  to  the  sofa,  where  the  colonel  still  sat,  imprinted 
a  swift  kiss  on  his  mottled  cheek,  and  fled,  leaving  him  in 
vested  with  a  mingled  flavor  of  freshly  ironed  muslin,  win- 
tergreen  lozenges,  and  recent  bread  and  butter.  He  sat  still 
for  some  time,  staring  out  of  the  window.  It  was  very 
quiet  in  the  room;  a  bumblebee  blundered  from  the  jasmine 
outside  into  the  open  window,  and  snored  loudly  at  the 
panes.  But  the  colonel  heeded  it  not,  and  remained  ab 
stracted  and  silent  until  the  door  opened  to  Miss  Tish  and 
Pansy  —  in  her  best  frock  and  sash,  at  which  the  colonel 
started  and  became  erect  again  and  courtly. 


136  A   WARD   OF  COLONEL  STAEBOTTLE'S 

"I  am  about  to  take  my  ward  out,"  he  said  deliberately, 
"  to  —  er  —  taste  the  air  in  the  Alameda,  and  —  er  —  view 
the  shops.  We  may  —  er  —  also  —  indulge  in  - —  er  —  slight 
suitable  refreshment;  —  er  —  seed  cake  —  or  —  bread  and 
butter  —  and  —  a  dish  of  tea. " 

Miss  Tish,  now  thoroughly  subdued,  was  delighted  to 
grant  Miss  Stannard  the  half  holiday  permitted  on  such  oc 
casions.  She  begged  the  colonel  to  suit  his  own  pleasure, 
and  intrusted  "the  dear  child"  to  her  guardian  "with  the 
greatest  confidence." 

The  colonel  made  a  low  bow,  and  Pansy,  demurely  slip 
ping  her  hand  into  his,  passed  with  him  into  the  hall;  there 
was  a  slight  rustle  of  vanishing  skirts,  and  Pansy  pressed 
his  hand  significantly.  When  they  were  well  outside,  she 
said,  in  a  lower  voice :  — 

"Don't  look  up  until  we  're  under  the  gymnasium  win 
dows."  The  colonel,  mystified  but  obedient,  strutted  on. 
"Now!"  said  Pansy.  He  looked  up,  beheld  the  windows 
aglow  with  bright  young  faces,  and  bewildering  with  many 
handkerchiefs  and  clapping  hands,  stopped,  and  then  taking 
off  his  hat,  acknowledged  the  salute  with  a  sweeping  bow. 
Pansy  was  delighted.  "I  knew  they  'd  be  there;  I  'd  al 
ready  fixed  'em.  They  're  just  dyin'  to  know  you." 

The  colonel  felt  a  certain  glow  of  pleasure.  "I  —  er  — 
had  already  intimated  a  —  er  —  willingness  to  —  er  —  in 
spect  the  classes ;  but  —  I  —  er  —  understood  that  the 
rules  "  — 

"They  're  sick  old  rules,"  interrupted  the  child.  "Tish 
and  Prink  well  are  the  rules !  You  say  just  'right  out  that 
you  will !  Just  overdo  her !  " 

The  colonel  had  a  vague  sense  that  he  ought  to  correct 
both  the  spirit  and  language  of  this  insurrectionary  speech, 
but  Pansy  pulled  him  along,  and  then  swept  him  quite  away 
with  a  torrent  of  prattle  of  the  school,  of  her  friends,  of  the 
teachers,  of  her  life  and  its  infinitely  small  miseries  and 


A  WARD   OF  COLONEL   STARBOTTLE'S  137 

pleasures.  Pansy  was  voluble;  never  before  had  tbe  colo 
nel  found  himself  relegated  to  the  place  of  a  passive  listener. 
Nevertheless,  he  liked  it,  and  as  they  passed  on,  under  the 
shade  of  the  Alameda,  with  Pansy  alternately  swinging  from 
his  hand  and  skipping  beside  him,  there  was  a  vague  smile 
of  satisfaction  on  his  face.  Passers-by  turned  to  look  after 
the  strangely  assorted  pair,  or  smiled,  accepting  them,  as  the 
colonel  fancied,  as  father  and  daughter.  An  odd  feeling, 
half  of  pain  and  half  of  pleasure,  gripped  at  the  heart  of  the 
empty  and  childless  man. 

And  now,  as  they  approached  the  more  crowded  thor 
oughfares,  the  instinct  of  chivalrous  protection  was  keen  in 
his  breast.  He  piloted  her  skillfully ;  he  jauntily  suited  his 
own  to  her  skipping  step ;  he  lifted  her  with  scrupulous  po 
liteness  over  obstacles;  strutting  beside  her  on  crowded 
pavements,  he  made  way  for  her  with  his  swinging  stick. 
All  the  while,  too,  he  had  taken  note  of  the  easy  carriage  of 
her  head  and  shoulders,  and  most  of  all  of  her  small,  slim 
feet  and  hands,  that,  to  his  fastidious  taste,  betokened  her 
race.  "Ged,  sir,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "she's  'Blue 
Grass  '  stock,  all  through."  To  admiration  succeeded  pride, 
with  a  slight  touch  of  ownership.  When  they  went  into  a 
shop,  which,  thanks  to  the  ingenuous  Pansy,  they  did  pretty 
often,  he  would  introduce  her  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  and 
the  remark,  "/  am  —  er  —  seeking  nothing  to-day,  but  if 
you  will  kindly  —  er  —  serve  my  ward  —  Miss  Stannard !  " 
Later,  when  they  went  into  the  confectioner's  for  refresh 
ment,  and  Pansy  frankly  declared  for  "  ice  cream  and  cream 
cakes,"  instead  of  the  "dish  of  tea  and  bread  and  butter " 
he  had  ordered  in  pursuance  of  his  promise,  he  heroically 
took  it  himself  —  to  satisfy  his  honor.  Indeed,  I  know  of 
no  more  sublime  figure  than  Colonel  Starbottle  —  rising  su 
perior  to  a  long-withstood  craving  for  a  " cocktail,"  morbidly 
conscious  also  of  the  ridiculousness  of  his  appearance  to  any 
of  his  old  associates  who  might  see  him  —  drinking  luke- 


138  A   WARD   OF  COLONEL   STARBOTTLE'S 

warm  tea  and  pecking  feebly  at  his  bread  and  butter  at  a 
small  table,  beside  his  little  tyrant. 

And  this  domination  of  the  helpless  continued  on  their 
way  home.  Although  Miss  Pansy  no  longer  talked  of  her 
self,  she  was  equally  voluble  in  inquiry  as  to  the  colonel's 
habits,  ways  of  life,  friends  and  acquaintances,  happily  re 
stricting  her  interrogations,  in  regard  to  those  of  her  own 
sex,  to  "any  little  girls  that  he  knew."  Saved  by  this  ex 
onerating  adjective,  the  colonel  saw  here  a  chance  to  indulge 
his  postponed  monitorial  duty,  as  well  as  his  vivid  imagina 
tion.  He  accordingly  drew  elaborate  pictures  of  impossible 
children  he  had  known  —  creatures  precise  in  language  and 
dress,  abstinent  of  play  and  confectionery,  devoted  to  les 
sons  and  duties,  and  otherwise,  in  Pansy's  own  words, 
"  loathsome  to  the  last  degree !  "  As  "  daughters  of  oldest 
and  most  cherished  friends,"  they  might  perhaps  have  ex 
cited  Pansy's  childish  jealousy  but  for  the  singular  fact 
that  they  had  all  long  ago  been  rewarded  by  marriage  with 
senators,  judges,  and  generals  —  also  associates  of  the  colo 
nel.  This  remoteness  of  presence  somewhat  marred  their 
effect  as  an  example,  and  the  colonel  was  mortified,  though 
not  entirely  displeased,  to  observe  that  their  surprising  vir 
tues  did  not  destroy  Pansy's  voracity  for  sweets,  the  reck 
lessness  of  her  skipping,  nor  the  freedom  of  her  language. 
The  colonel  was  remorseful  —  but  happy. 

When  they  reached  the  seminary  again,  Pansy  retired 
with  her  various  purchases,  but  reappeared  after  an  interval 
with  Miss  Tish. 

"I  remember,"  hesitated  that  lady,  trembling  under  the 
fascination  of  the  colonel's  profound  bow,  "that  you  were 
anxious  to  look  over  the  school,  and  although  it  was  not 
possible  then,  I  shall  be  glad  to  show  you  now  through  one 
of  the  classrooms." 

The  colonel,  glancing  at  Pansy,  was  momentarily  shocked 
by  a  distortion  of  one  side  of  her  face,  which  seemed,  how- 


A  WARD   OF  COLONEL    STARBOTTLE'S  139 

ever,  to  end  in  a  wink  of  her  innocent  brown  eyes,  but  re 
covering  himself,  gallantly  expressed  his  gratitude.  The 
next  moment  he  was  ascending  the  stairs,  side  by  side  with 
Miss  Tish,  and  had  a  distinct  impression  that  he  had  been 
pinched  in  the  calf  by  Pansy,  who  was  following  close  be 
hind. 

It  was  recess,  but  the  large  classroom  was  quite  filled 
with  pupils,  many  of  them  older  and  prettier  girls,  inveigled 
there,  as  it  afterwards  appeared,  by  Pansy,  in  some  preco 
cious  presentiment  of  her  guardian's  taste.  The  colonel's 
apologetic  yet  gallant  bow  on  entering,  and  his  erect,  old- 
fashioned  elegance,  instantly  took  their  delighted  attention. 
Indeed,  all  would  have  gone  well  had  not  Miss  Prinkwell, 
with  the  view  of  impressing  the  colonel  as  well  as  her  pu 
pils,  majestically  introduced  him  as  "a  distinguished  jurist 
deeply  interested  in  the  cause  of  education,  as  well  as  guard 
ian  of  their  fellow  pupil."  That  opportunity  was  not 
thrown  away  on  Colonel  Starbottle. 

Stepping  up  to  the  desk  of  the  astounded  principal,  he 
laid  the  points  of  his  fingers  delicately  upon  it,  and,  with  a 
preparatory  inclination  of  his  head  towards  her,  placed  his 
other  hand  in  his  breast,  and  with  an  invocatory  glance  at 
the  ceiling,  began. 

It  was  the  colonel's  habit  at  such  moments  to  state  at 
first,  with  great  care  and  precision,  the  things  that  he 
"would  not  say,"  that  he  "need  not  say,"  and  apparently 
that  it  was  absolutely  unnecessary  even  to  allude  to.  It 
was  therefore  not  strange  that  the  colonel  informed  them 
that  he  need  not  say  that  he  counted  his  present  privilege 
among  the  highest  that  had  been  granted  him ;  for  besides 
the  privilege  of  beholding  the  galaxy  of  youthful  talent  and 
excellence  before  him,  besides  the  privilege  of  being  sur 
rounded  by  a  garland  of  the  blossoms  of  the  school  in  all  their 
freshness  and  beauty,  it  was  well  understood  that  he  had  the 
greater  privilege  of  —  er  —  standing  in  loco  parent  is  to  one 


140  A  WARD   OF  COLONEL  STARBOTTLE'S 

of  these  blossoms.  It  was  not  for  him  to  allude  to  the  high 
trust  imposed  upon  him  by  —  er  —  deceased  and  cherished 
friend,  and  daughter  of  one  of  the  first  families  of  Virginia, 
by  the  side  of  one  who  must  feel  that  she  was  the  recipient 
of  trusts  equally  supreme  (here  the  colonel  paused,  and 
statuesquely  regarded  the  alarmed  Miss  Prinkwell  as  if  he 
were  in  doubt  of  it),  but  he  would  say  that  it  should  be  his 
devoted  mission  to  champion  the  rights  of  the  orphaned  and 
innocent  whenever  and  wherever  the  occasion  arose,  against 
all  odds,  and  even  in  the  face  of  misguided  authority. 
(Having  left  the  impression  that  Miss  Prinkwell  contem 
plated  an  invasion  of  those  rights,  the  colonel  became  more 
lenient  and  genial.)  He  fully  recognized  her  high  and  no 
ble  office;  he  saw  in  her  the  worthy  successor  of  those  two 
famous  instructresses  of  Athens  —  those  Greek  ladies  —  er 

—  whose  names  had  escaped  his  memory,  but  which  —  er 

—  no  doubt  Miss  Prinkwell  would  be  glad  to  recall  to  her 
pupils,  with  some  account  of  their  lives.      (Miss  Prinkwell 
colored;  she  had  never  heard  of  them  before,  and  even  the 
delight  of  the  class  in  the  colonel's  triumph  was  a  little 
dampened  by  this  prospect  of  hearing  more  about  them.) 
But  the  colonel  was  only  too  content  with  seeing  before  him 
these  bright  and  beautiful  faces,  destined,  as  he  firmly  be 
lieved,  in  after  years  to  lend  their  charm  and  effulgence  to 
the  highest  places  as  the  happy  helpmeets  of  the  greatest  in 
the  land.     He  was  —  er  —  leaving  a  —  er  —  slight  testimo 
nial  of  his  regard  in  the  form  of  some  —  er  - —  innocent  re 
freshments  in  the  hands  of  his  ward,  who  would  —  er  —  act 
as  —  er  —  his  proxy  in  their  distribution ;  and  the  colonel 
sat  down  to  the  flutter  of  handkerchiefs,  an  applause  only 
half  restrained,  and  the  utter  demoralization  of  Miss  Prink 
well. 

But  the  time  of  his  departure  had  come  by  this  time,  and 
he  was  too  experienced  a  public  man  to  risk  the  possibility 
of  an  anticlimax  by  protracting  his  leave-taking.  And  in 


A  WARD   OF  COLONEL   STARBOTTLE's  141 

an  ominous  shining  of  Pansy's  big  eyes  as  the  time  ap 
proached  he  felt  an  embarrassment  as  perplexing  as  the  odd 
presentiment  of  loneliness  that  was  creeping  over  him.  But 
with  an  elaborate  caution  as  to  the  dangers  of  self-indul 
gence,  and  the  private  bestowal  of  a  large  gold  piece  slipped 
into  her  hand,  a  promise  to  come  again  soon,  and  an  exac 
tion  that  she-would  write  to  him  often,  the  colonel  received 
in  return  a  wet  kiss,  a  great  deal  of  wet  cheek  pressed 
against  his  own,  and  a  momentary  tender  clinging,  like  that 
which  attends  the  pulling  up  of  some  small  flower,  as  he 
passed  out  into  the  porch.  In  the  hall,  on  the  landing  above 
him,  there  was  a  close  packing  of  brief  skirts  against  the 
railing,  and  a  voice,  apparently  proceeding  from  a  pair  of 
very  small  mottled  legs  protruding  through  the  balusters, 
said  distinctly,  "Free  cheers  for  Ternel  Tarbottle!"  And 
to  this  benediction  the  colonel,  hat  in  hand,  passed  out  of 
this  Eden  into  the  world  again. 

The  colonel's  next  visit  to  the  seminary  did  not  produce 
the  same  sensation  as  the  first,  although  it  was  accompanied 
with  equal  disturbance  to  the  fair  principals.  Had  he  been 
a  less  conceited  man  he  might  have  noticed  that  their  antag 
onism,  although  held  in  restraint  by  their  wholesome  fear 
of  him,  was  in  danger  of  becoming  more  a  conviction  than 
a  mere  suspicion.  He  was  made  aware  of  it  through  Pansy's 
resentment  towards  them,  and  her  revelation  of  a  certain 
inquisition  that  she  had  been  subjected  to  in  regard  to  his 
occupation,  habits,  and  acquaintances.  Naturally  of  these 
things  Pansy  knew  very  little,  but  this  had  not  prevented 
her  from  saying  a  great  deal.  There  had  been  enough  in 
her  questioners'  manner  to  make  her  suspect  that  her  guard 
ian  was  being  attacked,  and  to  his  defense  she  brought  the 
mendacity  and  imagination  of  a  clever  child.  What  she  had 
really  said  did  not  transpire  except  through  her  own  com 
ments  to  the  colonel:  "And  of  course  you  've  killed  people 


142  A  WAKD   OF   COLONEL   STAKBOTTLE'S 

—  for  you  're  a  kernel,  you  know !  "     (Here  the  colonel  ad 
mitted,  as  a  point  of  fact,  that  he  had  served  in  the  Mexican 
war.)     "And  you  kin  preach,  for  they  heard  you  do  it 
when  you  was  here  before,"  she  added  confidently;  "and  of 
course  you  own  niggers  —  for  there  's  (  Jim. '  "     (The  colo 
nel  here  attempted  to  explain  that  Jim,  being  in  a  free  State, 
was  now  a  free  man,  but  Pansy  swept  away  s*ch  fine  dis 
tinctions.)      "And  you  're  rich,  you  know,  for  you  gave  me 
that  ten-dollar  gold  piece  all  for  myself.     So  I  jest  gave  'em 
as  good  as  they  sent  —  the  old  spies  and  curiosity  shops ! " 

The  colonel,  more  pleased  at  Pansy's  devotion  than  con 
cerned  over  the  incident  itself,  accepted  this  interpretation 
of  his  character  as  a  munificent,  militant  priest  with  a  smil 
ing  protest.  But  a  later  incident  caused  him  to  remember 
it  more  seriously. 

They  had  taken  their  usual  stroll  through  the  Alameda, 
and  had  made  the  round  of  the  shops,  where  the  colonel  had 
exhibited  his  usual  liberality  of  purchase  and  his  exalted 
parental  protection,  and  so  had  passed  on  to  their  usual  re 
freshment  at  the  confectioner's,  the  usual  ices  and  cakes  for 
Pansy,  but  this  time  —  a  concession  also  to  the  tyrant  Pansy 

—  a  glass  of  lemon  soda  and  a  biscuit  for  the  colonel.      He 
was  coughing  over  his  unaccustomed  beverage,  and  Pansy, 
her  equanimity  and  volubility  restored  by  sweets,  was  chir 
ruping  at  his  side ;  the  large  saloon  was  filling  up  with  cus 
tomers  —  mainly  ladies  and  children,  embarrassing  to  him 
as  the  only  man  present,  when  suddenly  Pansy's  attention 
was  diverted  by  another  arrival.      It  was  a  good-looking 
young   woman,    overdressed,    striking,    and   self-conscious, 
who,  with  an  air  of  one  who  was  in  the  habit  of  challenging 
attention,  affectedly  seated  herself  with  a  male  companion 
at  an  empty  table,  and  began  to  pull  off  an  overtight  glove. 

"  My !  "  said  Pansy  in  admiring  wonder,  "ain't  she  fine  ?  " 

Colonel  Starbottle  looked  up  abstractedly,  but  ai  the  first 

glance  his  face  flushed  redly,  deepened  to  a  purple,  and  then 


A  WARD   OF  COLONEL   STAEBOTTLE'S  143 

became  gray  and  stern.  He  had  recognized  in  the  garish 
fair  one  Miss  Flora  Montague,  the  "  Western  Star  of  Terp 
sichore  and  Song,"  with  whom  he  had  supped  a  few  days 
before  at  Sacramento.  The  lady  was  "  on  tour  "  with  her 
"Combination  Troupe." 

The  colonel  leaned  over  and  fixed  his  murky  eyes  on 
Pansy.  "The  room  is  filling  up;  the  place  is  stifling;  I 
must  —  er  —  request  you  to  —  er  —  hurry. " 

There  was  a  change  in  the  colonel's  manner,  which  the 
quick-witted  child  heeded.  But  she  had  not  associated  it 
with  the  entrance  of  the  strangers,  and  as  she  obediently 
gulped  down  her  ice,  she  went  on  innocently,  — 

"That  fine  lady  's  smilin'  and  lookin'  over  here.  Seems 
to  know  you;  so  does  the  man  with  her." 

"I  —  er  —  must  request  you,"  said  the  colonel,  with 
husky  precision,  "  not  to  look  that  way,  but  finish  your  — 
er  —  repast. " 

His  tone  was  so  decided  that  the  child's  lips  pouted,  but 
before  she  could  speak  a  shadow  leaned  over  their  table.  It 
was  the  companion  of  the  "fine  lady." 

"Don't  seem  to  see  us,  Colonel,"  he  said  with  coarse  fa 
miliarity,  laying  his  hand  on  the  colonel's  shoulder. 
"Florry  wants  to  know  what 's  up." 

The  colonel  rose  at  the  touch.  "Tell  her,  sir,"  he  said 
huskily,  but  with  slow  deliberation,  "  that  I '  am  up  '  and 
leaving  this  place  with  my  ward,  Miss  Stannard.  Good- 
morning.  "  He  lifted  Pansy  with  infinite  courtesy  from  her 
chair,  took  her  hand,  strolled  to  the  counter,  threw  down  a 
gold  piece,  and  passing  the  table  of  the  astonished  fair  one 
with  an  inflated  breast,  swept  with  Pansy  out  of  the  shop. 
In  the  street  he  paused,  bidding  the  child  go  on ;  and  then, 
finding  he  was  not  followed  by  the  woman's  escort,  rejoined 
his  little  companion. 

For  a  few  moments  they  walked  silently  side  by  side. 
Then  Pansy's  curiosity,  getting  the  better  of  her  pout,  de- 


144  A  WARD   OF  COLONEL   STARBOTTLE'S 

manded  information.  She  had  applied  a  child's  swift  logic 
to  the  scene.  The  colonel  was  angry,  and  had  punished 
the  woman  for  something.  She  drew  closer  to  his  side,  and 
looking  up  with  her  "big  eyes,  said  confidentially,  — 

"  What  had  she  been  a-doing  1 " 

The  colonel  was  amazed,  embarrassed,  and  speechless. 
He  was  totally  unprepared  for  the  question,  and  as  unable 
to  answer  it.  His  abrupt  departure  from  the  shop  had  been 
to  evade  the  very  truth  now  demanded  of  him.  Only  a  su 
preme  effort  of  mendacity  was  left  him.  He  wiped  his  brow 
with  his  handkerchief,  coughed,  and  began  deliberately :  — 

"  The  —  er  —  lady  in  question  is  in  the  habit  of  using  a 
scent  called  —  er  —  patchouli,  a  —  er  —  perfume  exceed 
ingly  distressing  to  me.  I  detected  it  instantly  on  her  en 
trance.  I  wished  to  avoid  it  —  without  further  contact.  It 
is  —  er  —  singular  but  accepted  fact  that  some  people  are  — 
er  —  peculiarly  affected  by  odors.  I  had  —  er  —  old  cher 
ished  friend  who  always  —  er  —  fainted  at  the  odor  of  jas 
mine  ;  and  I  was  intimately  acquainted  with  General  Blud- 
yer,  who  —  er  —  dropped  like  a  shot  on  the  presentation  of 
a  simple  violet.  The  —  er  —  habit  of  using  such  perfumes 
excessively  in  public,"  continued  the  colonel,  looking  down 
upon  the  innocent  Pansy,  and  speaking  in  tones  of  deadly 
deliberation,  "  cannot  be  too  greatly  condemned,  as  well  as 
the  habit  of  —  er  —  frequenting  places  of  public  resort  in 
extravagant  costumes,  with  —  er  —  individuals  who  —  er  — 
intrude  upon  domestic  privacy.  I  trust  you  will  eschew 
such  perfumes,  places,  costumes,  and  —  er  —  companions 
forever  and  —  on  all  occasions  !  "  The  colonel  had  raised 
his  voice  to  his  forensic  emphasis,  and  Pansy,  somewhat 
alarmed,  assented.  Whether  she  entirely  accepted  the  colo 
nel's  explanation  was  another  matter. 

The  incident,  although  not  again  alluded  to,  seemed  to 
shadow  the  rest  of  their  brief  afternoon  holiday,  and  the 
colonel's  manner  was  unmistakably  graver.  But  it  seemed 


A  WARD  OF  COLONEL  STARBOTTLE'S  145 

to  the  child  more  affectionate  and  thoughtful.  He  had  pre 
viously  at  parting  submitted  to  be  kissed  by  Pansy  with 
stately  tolerance  and  an  immediate  resumption  of  his  loftiest 
manner.  On  this  present  leave-taking  he  laid  his  straight 
closely  shaven  lips  on  the  crown  of  her  dark  head,  and  as 
her  small  arms  clipped  his  neck,  drew  her  closely  to  his  side. 
The  child  uttered  a  slight  cry ;  the  colonel  hurriedly  put  his 
hand  to  his  breast.  Her  round  cheek  had  come  in  contact 
with  his  derringer  —  a  small  weapon  of  beauty  and  precision 
—  which  invariably  nestled  also  at  his  side,  in  his  waistcoat 
pocket.  The  child  laughed;  so  did  the  colonel,  but  his 
cheek  flushed  mightily. 

It  was  four  months  later,  and  a  turbulent  night.  The 
early  rains,  driven  by  a  strong  southwester  against  the  up 
per  windows  of  the  Magnolia  Restaurant,  sometimes  blurred 
the  radiance  of  the  bright  lights  within,  and  the  roar  of  the 
encompassing  pines  at  times  drowned  the  sounds  of  song  and 
laughter  that  rose  from  a  private  supper  room.  Even  the 
clattering  arrival  and  departure  of  the  Sacramento  stage 
coach,  which  disturbed  the  depths  below,  did  not  affect 
these  upper  revelers.  For  Colonel  Starbottle,  Jack  Ham- 
lin,  Judge  Beeswinger,  and  Jo  Wynyard,  assisted  by  Mes- 
dames  Montague,  Montmorency,  Bellefield,  and  "  Tinky  " 
Clifford,  of  the  "Western  Star  Combination  Troupe,"  then 
performing  "on  tour,"  were  holding  "high  jinks"  in  the 
supper  room.  The  colonel  had  been  of  late  moody,  irri 
table,  and  easily  upset.  In  the  words  of  a  friend  and  ad 
mirer,  "he  was  kam  only  at  twelve  paces." 

In  a  lull  in  the  general  tumult  a  Chinese  waiter  was  seen 
at  the  door  vainly  endeavoring  to  attract  the  attention  of  the 
colonel  by  signs  and  interjections.  Mr.  Hamlin's  quick  eye 
first  caught  sight  of  the  intruder.  "Come  in,  Confucius," 
said  Jack  pleasantly ;  "you  're  a  trifle  late  for  a  regular  turn, 
but  any  little  thing  in  the  way  of  knife  swallowing  "  — 


146  A  WARD   OF  COLONEL   STARBOTTLE'S 

"Lill  missee  to  see  connle!  Waitee  waitee,  bottom  side 
housee,"  interrupted  the  Chinaman,  dividing  his  speech  be 
tween  Jack  and  the  colonel. 

"  What !  Another  lady  1  This  is  no  place  for  me ! "  said 
Jack,  rising  with  finely  simulated  decorum. 

"Ask  her  up,"  chirped  "Tinky"  Clifford. 

But  at  this  moment  the  door  opened  against  the  China 
man,  and  a  small  figure  in  a  cloak  and  hat,  dripping  with 
raindrops,  glided  swiftly  in.  After  a  moment's  half- fright 
ened,  half-admiring  glance  at  the  party,  she  darted  forward 
with  a  little  cry  and  threw  her  wet  arms  round  the  colonel. 
The  rest  of  the  company,  arrested  in  their  festivity,  gasped 
with  vague  and  smiling  wonder;  the  colonel  became  purple 
and  gasped.  But  only  for  a  moment.  The  next  instant  he 
was  on  his  legs,  holding  the  child  with  one  hand,  while 
with  the  other  he  described  a  stately  sweep  of  the  table. 

"My  ward  —  Miss  Pansy  Stannard,"  he  said  with  husky 
brevity.  But  drawing  the  child  aside,  he  whispered  quickly, 
"  What  has  happened  1  Why  are  you  here  ?  " 

But  Pansy,  child-like,  already  diverted  by  the  lights,  the 
table  piled  with  delicacies,  the  gayly  dressed  women,  and 
the  air  of  festivity,  answered  half  abstractedly,  and  as  much, 
perhaps,  to  the  curious  eyes  about  her  as  to  the  colonel's 
voice,  — 

"  I  runned  away !  " 

"Hush!"  whispered  the  colonel,  aghast. 

But  Pansy,  responding  again  to  the  company  rather  than 
her  guardian's  counsel,  and  as  if  appealing  to  them,  went 
on  half  poutingly:  "Yes!  I  runned  away  because  they 
teased  me !  Because  they  did  n't  like  you  and  said  horrid 
things.  Because  they  told  awful,  dreadful  lies!  Because 
they  said  I  wasn't  no  orphan!  —  that  my  name  wasn't 
Stannard,  and  that  you  'd  made  it  all  up.  Because  they 
said  I  was  a  liar  —  and  you  was  my  father  !  "  - 

A  sudden  outbreak  of  laughter  here  shook  the  room,  and 


A  WARD   OF  COLONEL   STARBOTTLE'S  147 

even  drowned  the  storm  outside ;  again  and  again  it  rose,  as 
the  colonel  staggered  gaspingly  to  his  feet.  For  an  instant 
it  seemed  as  if  his  struggles  to  restrain  himself  would  end 
in  an  apoplectic  fit.  Perhaps  it  was  for  this  reason  that 
Jack  Hamlin  checked  his  own  light  laugh  and  became  alert 
and  grave.  Yet  the  next  moment  Colonel  Starbottle  went 
as  suddenly  dead  white,  as  leaning  over  the  table  he  said 
huskily,  but  deliberately,  "I  must  request  the  ladies  pre 
sent  to  withdraw." 

"Don't  mind  us,  Colonel,"  said  Judge  Beeswinger,  "it 's 
all  in  the  family  here,  you  know !  And  —  now  I  look  at 
the  girl  —  hang  it  all !  she  does  favor  you,  old  man.  Ha ! 
ha!" 

"And  as  for  the  ladies,"  said  Wynyard  with  a  weak, 
vinous  laugh,  "unless  any  of  'em  is  inclined  to  take  the 
matter  as  personal  —  eh  ?  " 

"  Stop !  "  roared  the  colonel. 

There  was  no  mistaking  his  voice  nor  his  intent  now. 
The  two  men,  insulted  and  instantly  sobered,  were  silent. 
Mr.  Hamlin  rose,  playfully  but  determinedly  tapped  his 
fair  companions  on  the  shoulders,  saying,  "Run  away  and 
play,  girls,"  actually  bundled  them,  giggling  and  protesting, 
from  the  room,  closed  the  door,  and  stood  with  his  back 
against  it.  Then  it  was  seen  that  the  colonel,  still  very 
white,  was  holding  the  child  by  the  hand,  as  she  shrank 
back  wonderingly  and  a  little  frightened  against  him. 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Hamlin,"  said  the  colonel  in  a  lower 
voice  —  yet  with  a  slight  touch  of  his  habitual  stateliness  in 
it,  "for  being  here  to  bear  witness,  in  the  presence  of  this 
child,  to  my  unqualified  statement  that  a  more  foul,  vile, 
and  iniquitous  falsehood  never  was  uttered  than  that  which 
has  been  poured  into  her  innocent  ears ! "  He  paused, 
walked  to  the  door,  still  holding  her  hand,  and,  as  Mr.  Ham 
lin  stepped  aside,  opened  it,  told  her  to  await  him  in  the 
public  parlor,  closed  the  door  again,  and  once  more  faced 


146  A  WARD   OF  COLONEL   STARBOTTLE'S 

"Lill  missee  to  see  connle!  Waitee  waitee,  bottom  side 
housee, "  interrupted  the  Chinaman,  dividing  his  speech  be 
tween  Jack  and  the  colonel. 

"  What !  Another  lady  1  This  is  no  place  for  me ! "  said 
Jack,  rising  with  finely  simulated  decorum. 

'"Ask  her  up,"  chirped  "Tinky  "  Clifford. 

But  at  this  moment  the  door  opened  against  the  China 
man,  and  a  small  figure  in  a  cloak  and  hat,  dripping  with 
raindrops,  glided  swiftly  in.  After  a  moment's  half- fright 
ened,  half-admiring  glance  at  the  party,  she  darted  forward 
with  a  little  cry  and  threw  her  wet  arms  round  the  colonel. 
The  rest  of  the  company,  arrested  in  their  festivity,  gasped 
with  vague  and  smiling  wonder;  the  colonel  became  purple 
and  gasped.  But  only  for  a  moment.  The  next  instant  he 
was  on  his  legs,  holding  the  child  with  one  hand,  while 
with  the  other  he  described  a  stately  sweep  of  the  table. 

"My  ward  —  Miss  Pansy  Stannard,"  he  said  with  husky 
brevity.  But  drawing  the  child  aside,  he  whispered  quickly, 
"  What  has  happened  1  Why  are  you  here  ?  " 

But  Pansy,  child-like,  already  diverted  by  the  lights,  the 
table  piled  with  delicacies,  the  gayly  dressed  women,  and 
the  air  of  festivity,  answered  half  abstractedly,  and  as  much, 
perhaps,  to  the  curious  eyes  about  her  as  to  the  colonel's 
voice,  — 

"  I  runned  away !  " 

"Hush!"  whispered  the  colonel,  aghast. 

But  Pansy,  responding  again  to  the  company  rather  than 
her  guardian's  counsel,  and  as  if  appealing  to  them,  went 
on  half  poutingly:  "Yes!  I  runned  away  because  they 
teased  me !  Because  they  did  n't  like  you  and  said  horrid 
things.  Because  they  told  awful,  dreadful  lies!  Because 
they  said  I  wasn't  no  orphan!  —  that  my  name  wasn't 
Stannard,  and  that  you  'd  made  it  all  up.  Because  they 
said  I  was  a  liar  —  and  you  was  my  father  !  "  - 

A  sudden  outbreak  of  laughter  here  shook  the  room,  and 


A  WARD   OF  COLONEL  STARBOTTLE'S  147 

even  drowned  the  storm  outside ;  again  and  again  it  rose,  as 
the  colonel  staggered  gaspingly  to  his  feet.  For  an  instant 
it  seemed  as  if  his  struggles  to  restrain  himself  would  end 
in  an  apoplectic  fit.  Perhaps  it  was  for  this  reason  that 
Jack  Hamlin  checked  his  own  light  laugh  and  became  alert 
and  grave.  Yet  the  next  moment  Colonel  Starbottle  went 
as  suddenly  dead  white,  as  leaning  over  the  table  he  said 
huskily,  but  deliberately,  "I  must  request  the  ladies  pre 
sent  to  withdraw." 

"Don't  mind  us,  Colonel,"  said  Judge  Beeswinger,  "it 's 
all  in  the  family  here,  you  know !  And  —  now  I  look  at 
the  girl  —  hang  it  all !  she  does  favor  you,  old  man.  Ha ! 
ha!" 

"And  as  for  the  ladies,"  said  Wynyard  with  a  weak, 
vinous  laugh,  "unless  any  of  'em  is  inclined  to  take  the 
matter  as  personal  —  eh  ?  " 

"  Stop !  "  roared  the  colonel. 

There  was  no  mistaking  his  voice  nor  his  intent  now. 
The  two  men,  insulted  and  instantly  sobered,  were  silent. 
Mr.  Hamlin  rose,  playfully  but  determinedly  tapped  his 
fair  companions  on  the  shoulders,  saying,  "Run  away  and 
play,  girls,"  actually  bundled  them,  giggling  and  protesting, 
from  the  room,  closed  the  door,  and  stood  with  his  back 
against  it.  Then  it  was  seen  that  the  colonel,  still  very 
white,  was  holding  the  child  by  the  hand,  as  she  shrank 
back  wonderingly  and  a  little  frightened  against  him. 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Hamlin,"  said  the  colonel  in  a  lower 
voice  —  yet  with  a  slight  touch  of  his  habitual  stateliness  in 
it,  "for  being  here  to  bear  witness,  in  the  presence  of  this 
child,  to  my  unqualified  statement  that  a  more  foul,  vile, 
and  iniquitous  falsehood  never  was  uttered  than  that  which 
has  been  poured  into  her  innocent  ears ! "  He  paused, 
walked  to  the  door,  still  holding  her  hand,  and,  as  Mr.  Ham 
lin  stepped  aside,  opened  it,  told  her  to  await  him  in  the 
public  parlor,  closed  the  door  again,  and  once  more  faced 


148  A  WARD   OF  COLONEL  STARBOTTLE'S 

the  two  men.  "And,"  he  continued  more  deliberately, 
"for  the  infamous  jests  that  you,  Judge  Beeswinger,  and 
you,  Mr.  Wynyard,  have  dared  to  pass  in  her  presence  and 
mine,  I  shall  expect  from  each  of  you  the  fullest  satisfac 
tion  —  personal  satisfaction.  My  seconds  will  wait  on  you 
in  the  morning." 

The  two  men  stood  up  sobered  —  yet  belligerent. 

"As  you  like,  sir,"  said  Beeswinger,  flashing. 

"The  sooner  the  better  for  me,"  added  Wynyard  curtly. 

They  passed  the  unruffled  Jack  Hamlin  with  a  smile  and 
a  vaguely  significant  air,  as  if  calling  him  as  a  witness  to 
the  colonel's  madness,  and  strode  out  of  the  room. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  them,  Mr.  Hamlin  lightly 
settled  his  white  waistcoat,  and,  with  his  hands  on  his  hips, 
lounged  towards  the  colonel.  "And  then?"  he  said  qui 
etly. 

"Eh?"  said  the  colonel. 

"After  you  've  shot  one  or  both  of  these  men,  or  one  of 
'em  has  knocked  you  out,  what 's  to  become  of  that  child?  " 

"If  —  I  am  —  er  —  spared,  sir,"  said  the  colonel  huskily, 
"I  shall  continue  to  defend  her  —  against  calumny  and 
sneers  "  — 

"  In  this  style,  eh  ?  After  her  life  has  been  made  a  hell 
by  her  association  with  a  man  of  your  reputation,  you  pro 
pose  to  whitewash  it  by  a  quarrel  with  a  couple  of  drunken 
scallawags  like  Beeswinger  and  Wynyard,  in  the  presence 

of  three  painted  trollops  and  a  d d  scamp  like  myself! 

Do  you  suppose  this  won't  be  blown  all  over  California  be 
fore  she  can  be  sent  back  to  school  ?  Do  you  suppose  those 
cackling  hussies  in  the  next  room  won't  give  the  whole 
story  away  to  the  next  man  who  stands  treat  ? "  (A  fine 
contempt  for  the  sex  in  general  was  one  of  Mr.  Hamlin 's 
most  subtle  attractions  for  them.) 

"Nevertheless,  sir,"  stammered  the  colonel,  "Uie  prompt 
punishment  of  the  man  who  has  dared  "  — 


A  WARD  OF  COLONEL  STARBOTTLE'S  149 

"Punishment!"  interrupted  Hamlin,  "who  'a  to  punish 
the  man  who  has  dared  most  ?  The  one  man  who  is  respon 
sible  for  the  whole  thing?  Who  's  to  punish  you  ?  " 

11  Mr.  Hamlin  —  sir !  "  gasped  the  colonel,  falling  back, 
as  his  hand  involuntarily  rose  to  the  level  of  his  waistcoat 
pocket  and  his  derringer. 

But  Mr.  Hamlin  only  put  down  the  wine  glass  he  had 
lifted  from  the  table  and  was  delicately  twirling  between 
his  fingers,  and  looked  fixedly  at  the  colonel. 

"  Look  here, "  he  said  slowly.  "  When  the  boys  said  that 
you  accepted  the  guardianship  of  that  child  not  on  account 
of  Dick  Stannard,  but  only  as  a  bluff  against  the  joke 
they  'd  set  up  at  you,  I  didn't  believe  them!  When  these 
men  and  women  to-night  tumbled  to  that  story  of  the  child 
being  yours,  I  didn't  believe  that!  When  it  was  said  by 
others  that  you  were  serious  about  making  her  your  ward, 
and  giving  her  your  property,  because  you  doted  on  her  like 
a  father,  I  didn't  believe  that." 

"And  —  why  not  that?"  said  the  colonel  quickly,  yet 
with  an  odd  tremor  in  his  voice. 

"Because,"  said  Hamlin,  becoming  suddenly  as  grave  as 
the  colonel,  "I  could  not  believe  that  any  one  who  cared  a 
picayune  for  the  child  could  undertake  a  trust  that  might 
bring  her  into  contact  with  a  life  and  company  as  rotten  as 
ours.  I  could  not  believe  that  even  the  most  God-forsaken, 
conceited  fool  would,  for  the  sake  of  a  little  sentimental 
parade  and  splurge  among  people  outside  his  regular  walk, 
allow  the  prospects  of  that  child  to  be  blasted.  I  couldn't 
believe  it,  even  if  he  thought  he  was  acting  like  a  father. 
I  didn't  believe  it  —  but  I'm  beginning  to  believe  it 
now ! "  • 

There  was  little  to  choose  between  the  attitudes  and  ex 
pressions  of  the  two  set  stern  faces  now  regarding  each 
other,  silently,  a  foot  apart.  But  the  colonel  was  the  first 
to  speak :  — 


150  A  WARD  OF  COLONEL  STARBOTTLE'S 

"Mr.  Hamlin  —  sir!  You  said  a  moment  ago  that  / 
was  —  er  —  ahem  —  responsible  for  this  evening's  affair  — 
but  you  expressed  a  doubt  as  to  who  could  —  er  —  punish 
me  for  it.  I  accept  the  responsibility  you  have  indicated, 
sir,  and  offer  you  that  chance.  But  as  this  matter  between 
us  must  have  precedence  over  —  my  engagements  with  that 
canaille,  I  shall  expect  you  with  your  seconds  at  sunrise  on 
Burnt  Bidge.  Good-evening,  sir." 

With  head  erect  the  colonel  left  the  room.  Mr.  Ham 
lin  slightly  shrugged  his  shoulders,  turned  to  the  door  of 
the  room  whither  he  had  just  banished  the  ladies,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  his  voice  was  heard  melodiously  among  the 
gayest. 

For  all  that  he  managed  to  get  them  away  early.  When 
he  had  bundled  them  into  a  large  carryall,  and  watched 
them  drive  away  through  the  storm,  he  returned  for  a  min 
ute  to  the  waiting  room  for  his  overcoat.  He  was  surprised 
to  hear  the  sound  of  the  child's  voice  in  the  supper  room, 
and  the  door  being  ajar,  he  could  see  quite  distinctly  that 
she  was  seated  at  the  table,  with  a  plate  full  of  sweets  be 
fore  her,  while  Colonel  Starbottle,  with  his  back  to  the 
door,  was  sitting  opposite  to  her,  his  shoulders  slightly 
bowed  as  he  eagerly  watched  her.  It  seemed  to  Mr.  Ham 
lin  that  it  was  the  close  of  an  emotional  interview,  for 
Pansy's  voice  was  broken,  partly  by  sobs,  and  partly,  I 
grieve  to  say,  by  the  hurried  swallowing  of  the  delicacies 
before  her.  Yet,  above  the  beating  of  the  storm  outside, 
he  could  hear  her  saying,  — 

"Yes!  I  promise  to  be  good  —  (sob)  —  and  to  go  with 
Mrs.  Pyecroft  —  (sob)  —  and  to  try — to  like  another  guard 
ian  —  (sob)  —  and  not  to  cry  any  more  — »(sob)  —  and  — 
oh,  please,  don't  you  do  it  either  !  " 

But  here  Mr.  Hamlin  slipped  out  of  the  room  and  out  of 
the  house,  with  a  rather  grave  face.  An  hour  fitter,  when 
the  colonel  drove  up  to  the  Pyecrofts'  door  with  Pansy,  he 


A  WARD   OF  COLONEL   STAEBOTTLE'S  151 

found  that  Mr.  Pyecroft  was  slightly  embarrassed,  and  a 
figure,  which,  in  the  darkness,  seemed  to  resemble  Mr. 
Hamlin 's,  had  just  emerged  from  the  door  as  he  entered. 

Yet  the  sun  was  not  up  on  Burnt  Ridge  earlier  than  Mr. 
Hamlin.  The  storm  of  the  night  before  had  blown  itself 
out;  a  few  shreds  of  mist  hung  in  the  valleys  from  the 
Ridge,  that  lay  above  coldly  reddening.  Then  a  breeze 
swept  over  it,  and  out  of  the  dissipating  mist  fringe  Mr. 
Hamlin  saw  two  black  figures,  closely  buttoned  up  like  him 
self,  emerge,  which  he  recognized  as  Beeswinger  and  Wyn- 
yard,  followed  by  their  seconds.  But  the  colonel  came  not. 
Hamlin  joined  the  others  in  an  animated  confidential  con 
versation,  attended  by  a  watchful  outlook  for  the  missing 
adversary.  Five,  ten  minutes  elapsed,  and  yet  the  usually 
prompt  colonel  was  not  there.  Mr.  Hamlin  looked  grave; 
Wynyard  and  Beeswinger  exchanged  interrogatory  glances. 
Then  a  buggy  was  seen  driving  furiously  up  the  grade,  and 
from  it  leaped  Colonel  Starbottle,  accompanied  by  Dick 
MacKinstry,  his  second,  carrying  his  pistol  case.  And  then 
—  strangely  enough  for  men  who  were  waiting  the  coming 
of  an  antagonist  who  was  a  dead  shot  —  they  drew  a  breath 
of  relief! 

MacKinstry  slightly  preceded  his  principal,  and  the  oth 
ers  could  see  that  Starbottle,  though  erect,  was  walking 
slowly.  They  were  surprised  also  to  observe  that  he  was 
haggard  and  hollow  eyed,  and  seemed,  in  the  few  hours  that 
had  elapsed  since  they  last  saw  him,  to  have  aged  ten  years. 
MacKinstry,  a  tall  Kentuckian,  saluted,  and  was  the  first 
one  to  speak. 

"Colonel  Starbottle,"  he  said  formally,  "desires  to  ex 
press  his  regrets  at  this  delay,  which  was  unavoidable,  as 
he  was  obliged  to  attend  his  ward,  who  was  leaving  by  the 
down  coach  for  Sacramento  with  Mrs.  Pyecroft,  this  morn 
ing."  Hamlin,  Wynyard,  and  Beeswinger  exchanged 
glances.  "Colonel  Starbottle,"  continued  MacKinstry, 


152  A  WARD  OF  COLONEL  STARBOTTLE'S 

turning  to  his  principal,  "desires  to  say  a  word  to  Mr. 
Hamlin." 

As  Mr.  Hamlin  would  have  advanced  from  the  group, 
Colonel  Starbottle  lifted  his  hand  deprecatingly.  "What 
I  have  to  say  must  be  said  before  these  gentlemen,"  he  be 
gan  slowly.  "Mr.  Hamlin  —  sir!  when  I  solicited  the 
honor  of  this  meeting  I  was  under  a  grievous  misapprehen 
sion  of  the  intent  and  purpose  of  your  comments  on  my 
action  last  evening.  I  think,"  he  added,  slightly  inflating 
his  buttoned-up  figure,  "  that  the  reputation  I  have  always 
borne  in  —  er  —  meetings  of  this  kind  will  prevent  any  — 
er  —  misunderstanding  of  my  present  action  —  which  is  to 
—  er  —  ask  permission  to  withdraw  my  challenge  —  and  to 
humbly  beg  your  pardon." 

The  astonishment  produced  by  this  unexpected  apology, 
and  Mr.  Hamlin's  prompt  grasp  of  the  colonel's  hand,  had 
scarcely  passed  before  the  colonel  drew  himself  up  again, 
and  turning  to  his  second  said,  "And  now  I  am  at  the  ser 
vice  of  Judge  Beeswinger  and  Mr.  Wynyard  —  whichever 
may  elect  to  honor  me  first." 

But  the  two  men  thus  addressed  looked  for  a  moment 
strangely  foolish  and  embarrassed.  Yet  the  awkwardness 
was  at  last  broken  by  Judge  Beeswinger  frankly  advancing 
towards  the  colonel  with  an  outstretched  hand.  "  We  came 
here  only  to  apologize,  Colonel  Starbottle.  Without  pos 
sessing  your  reputation  and  experience  in  these  matters,  we 
still  think  we  can  claim,  as  you  have,  an  equal  exemption 
from  any  misunderstanding  when  we  say  that  we  deeply 
regret  our  foolish  and  discourteous  conduct  last  even 
ing." 

A  quick  flush  mounted  to  the  colonel's  haggard  cheek  as 
he  drew  back  with  a  suspicious  glance  at  Hamlin. 

"  Mr.  Hamlin !  —  gentlemen !  —  if  this  is  —  er  — !  " 

But   before   he  could  finish  his  sentence   Hajjilin  had 


A  WARD   OF  COLONEL   STARBOTTLE'S  153 

clapped  his  hand  on  the  colonel's  shoulder.  "  You  '11  take 
my  word,  colonel,  that  these  gentlemen  honestly  intended 
to  apologize,  and  came  here  for  that  purpose ;  —  and  —  so 
did  I —  only  you  anticipated  me !  " 

In  the  laughter  that  followed  Mr.  Hamlin's  frankness 
the  colonel's  features  relaxed  grimly,  and  he  shook  the 
hands  of  his  late  possible  antagonists. 

"And  now,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin  gayly,  "you  '11  all  adjourn 
to  breakfast  with  me  —  and  try  to  make  up  for  the  supper 
we  left  unfinished  last  night." 

It  was  the  only  allusion  to  that  interruption  and  its  con 
sequences,  for  during  the  breakfast  the  colonel  said  nothing 
in  regard  to  his  ward,  and  the  other  guests  were  discreetly 
reticent.  But  Mr.  Hamlin  was  not  satisfied.  He  managed 
to  get  the  colonel's  servant,  Jim,  aside,  and  extracted  from 
the  negro  that  Colonel  Starbottle  had  taken  the  child  that 
night  to  Pyecroft's;  that  he  had  had  a  long  interview  with 
Pyecroft;  had  written  letters  and  "walked  de  flo'  "  all 
night ;  that  he  (Jim)  was  glad  the  child  was  gone ! 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Hamlin,  with  affected  carelessness. 

"She  was  just  makin'  de  kernel  like  any  o'  de  low-down 
No'th'n  folks  —  keerful,  and  stingy,  and  mighty  'fraid  o' 
de  opinions  o'  de  biggety  people.  And  fo'  what?  Jess  to 
strut  round  wid  dat  child  like  he  was  her  'spectable  go  to 
meeting  fader ! " 

"And  was  the  child  sorry  to  leave  him?  "  asked  Ham 
lin. 

"  Wull  —  no,  sah.  De  mighty  euros  thing,  Marse  Jack, 
about  the  gals  —  big  and  little  —  is  dey  just  use  de  kernel ! 
—  dat 's  all!  Dey  just  use  de  ole  man  like  a  pole  to  bring 
down  deir  persimmons  —  see  ?  " 

But  Mr.  Hamlin  did  not  smile. 

Later  it  was  known  that  Colonel  Starbottle  had  resigned 
his  guardianship  with  the  consent  of  the  court.  Whether 


154  A  WARD   OF  COLONEL  STARBOTTLE'S 

he  ever  again  saw  his  late  ward  was  not  known,  nor  if  he 
remained  loyal  to  his  memories  of  her. 

Readers  of  these  chronicles  may,  however,  remember  that 
years  after,  when  the  colonel  married  the  widow  of  a  certain 
Mr.  Tretherick,  both  in  his  courtship  and  his  short  married 
life  he  was  singularly  indifferent  to  the  childish  graces  of 
Carrie  Tretherick,  her  beloved  little  daughter,  and  that  his 
obtuseness  in  that  respect  provoked  the  widow's  ire. 


PROSPERS  "OLD  MOTHER" 


PKOSPEK'S  "OLD   MOTHEK" 

"!T  's  all  very  well,"  said  Joe  Wynbrook,  "for  us  to  be 
sittin'  here,  slingin'  lies  easy  and  comfortable,  with  the  wind 
whistlin'  in  the  pines  outside,  and  the  rain  just  liftin'  the 
ditches  to  fill  our  sluice  boxes  with  gold  ez  we  're  smokin' 
and  waitin',  but  I  tell  you  what,  boys  —  it  ain't  home! 
No,  sir,  it  ain't  home  !  " 

The  speaker  paused,  glanced  around  the  bright,  comfort 
able  barroom,  the  shining  array  of  glasses  beyond,  and  the 
circle  of  complacent  faces  fronting  the  stove,  on  which  his 
own  boots  were  cheerfully  steaming,  lifted  a  glass  of  whis 
key  from  the  floor  under  his  chair,  and  in  spite  of  his  de 
precating  remark,  took  a  long  draught  of  the  spirits  with 
every  symptom  of  satisfaction. 

"If  ye  mean,"  returned  Cyrus  Brewster,  "that  it  ain't 
the  old  farmhouse  of  our  boyhood,  'way  back  in  the  woods, 
I'll  agree  with  you;  but  ye '11  just  remember  that  there 
was  n't  any  gold  placers  lying  round  on  the  medder  on  that 
farm.  Not  much !  Ef  thar  had  been,  we  would  n't  have 
left  it." 

"I  don't  mean  that,"  said  Joe  Wynbrook,  settling  him 
self  comfortably  back  in  his  chair;  "it 's  the  family  hearth 
I'm  talkin'  of.  The  soothin'  influence,  ye  know  —  the 
tidiness  of  the  women  folks." 

"Ez  to  the  soothin'  influence,"  remarked  the  barkeeper, 
leaning  his  elbows  meditatively  on  his  counter,  '  afore  I 
struck  these  diggin's  I  had  a  grocery  and  bar,  'way  back  in 
Mizzoori,  where  there  was  five  old-fashioned  farms  jined. 
Blame  my  skin  ef  the  men  folks  weren't  a  darned  sight 
oftener  over  in  my  grocery,  sittin'  on  barrils  and  histin'  in 


158  PROSPER'S  OLD  MOTHER 

their  reg'lar  corn-juice,  than  ever  any  of  you  be  here  — 
with  all  these  modern  improvements.'7 

"Ye  don't  catch  on,  any  of  you,"  returned  Wynbrook 
impatiently.  "Ef  it  was  a  mere  matter  o'  buildin'  houses 
and  becomin'  family  men,  I  reckon  that  this  yer  camp  is 
about  prosperous  enough  to  do  it,  and  able  to  get  gals 
enough  to  marry  us,  but  that  would  be  only  borryin'  trouble 
and  lettin'  loose  a  lot  of  jabberin'  women  to  gossip  agin' 
each  other  and  spile  all  our  friendships.  No,  gentlemen! 
What  we  want  here  —  each  of  us  —  is  a  good  old  mother ! 
Nothin'  new-fangled  or  fancy,  but  the  reg'lar  old-fashioned 
mother  we  was  used  to  when  we  was  boys ! " 

The  speaker  struck  a  well-worn  chord  —  rather  the  worse 
for  wear,  and  one  that  had  jangled  falsely  ere  now,  but 
which  still  produced  its  effect.  The  men  were  silent.  Thus 
encouraged,  Wynbrook  proceeded :  — 

"Think  o'  comin'  home  from  the  gulch  a  night  like  this 
and  findin'  yer  old  mother  a-waitin'  ye!  No  fumblin' 
around  for  the  matches  ye  'd  left  in  the  gulch;  no  high  old 
cussin'  because  the  wood  was  wet  or  you  forgot  to  bring  it 
in;  no  bustlin'  around  for  your  dry  things  and  findin'  you 
forgot  to  dry  'em  that  mornin'  — but  everything  waitin'  for 
ye  and  ready.  And  then,  mebbe,  she  brings  ye  in  some 
doughnuts  she's  just  cooked  for  ye  —  cooked  ez  only  she 
kin  cook  'em!  Take  Prossy  Riggs  —  alongside  of  me  here 
—  for  instance!  He  's  made  the  biggest  strike  yet,  and  is 
puttin'  up  a  high-toned  house  on  the  hill.  Well!  he'll 
hev  it  finished  off  and  furnished  slap-up  style,  you  bet! 
with  a  Chinese  cook,  and  a  Biddy,  and  a  Mexican  vaquero 
to  look  after  his  horse  —  but  he  won't  have  no  mother  to 
housekeep!  That  is,"  he  corrected  himself  perfunctorily, 
turning  to  his  companion,  "you've  never  spoke  o'  your 
mother,  so  I  reckon  you  're  about  fixed  up  like  us." 

The  young  man  thus  addressed  flushed  slightly^and  then 
nodded  his  head  with  a  sheepish  smile.  He  had,  however, 


PEOSPER'S   OLD  MOTHER  159 

listened  to  the  conversation  with  an  interest  almost  child 
ish,  and  a  reverent  admiration  of  his  comrades  —  qualities 
which,  combined  with  an  intellect  not  particularly  brilliant, 
made  him  alternately  the  butt  and  the  favorite  of  the  camp. 
Indeed,  he  was  supposed  to  possess  that  proportion  of  stu 
pidity  and  inexperience  which,  in  mining  superstition,  gives 
"luck"  to  its  possessor.  And  this  had  been  singularly 
proven  in  the  fact  that  he  had  made  the  biggest  "  strike  " 
of  the  season. 

Joe  Wynbrook's  sentimentalism,  albeit  only  argumenta 
tive  and  half  serious,  had  unwittingly  touched  a  chord  of 
"Prossy's"  simple  history,  and  the  flush  which  had  risen 
to  his  cheek  was  not  entirely  bashfulness.  The  home  and 
relationship  of  which  they  spoke  so  glibly,  he  had  never 
known ;  he  was  a  foundling !  As  he  lay  awake  that  night 
he  remembered  the  charitable  institution  which  had  pro 
tected  his  infancy,  the  master  to  whom  he  had  later  been 
apprenticed;  that  was  all  he  knew  of  his  childhood.  In 
his  simple  way  he  had  been  greatly  impressed  by  the  strange 
value  placed  by  his  companions  upon  the  family  influence, 
and  he  had  received  their  extravagance  with  perfect  credu 
lity.  In  his  absolute  ignorance  and  his  lack  of  humor  he 
had  detected  no  false  quality  in  their  sentiment.  And  a 
vague  sense  of  his  responsibility,  as  one  who  had  been  the 
luckiest,  and  who  was  building  the  first  "house"  in  the 
camp,  troubled  him.  He  lay  staringly  wide  awake,  hearing 
the  mountain  wind,  and  feeling  warm  puff's  of  it  on  his  face 
through  the  crevices  of  the  log  cabin,  as  he  thought  of  the 
new  house  on  the  hill  that  was  to  be  lathed  and  plastered 
and  clapboarded,  and  yet  void  and  vacant  of  that  myste 
rious  "  mother  " !  And  then,  out  of  the  solitude  and  dark 
ness,  a  tremendous  idea  struck  him  that  made  him  sit  up  in 
his  bunk ! 

A  day  or  two  later  "  Prossy  "  Riggs  stood  on  a  sand- 
blown,  wind-swept  suburb  of  San  Francisco,  before  a  large 


160  PKOSPER'S  OLD  MOTHER 

building  whose  forbidding  exterior  proclaimed  that  it  was 
an  institution  of  formal  charity.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  refuge 
for  the  various  waifs  and  strays  of  ill-advised  or  hopeless 
immigration.  As  Prosper  paused  before  the  door,  certain 
old  recollections  of  a  similar  refuge  were  creeping  over  him, 
and,  oddly  enough,  he  felt  as  embarrassed  as  if  he  had  been 
seeking  relief  for  himself.  The  perspiration  stood  out  on 
his  forehead  as  he  entered  the  room  of  the  manager. 

It  chanced,  however,  that  this  official,  besides  being  a 
man  of  shrewd  experience  of  human  weakness,  was  also 
kindly  hearted,  and  having,  after  his  first  official  scrutiny 
of  his  visitor  and  his  resplendent  watch  chain,  assured  him 
self  that  he  was  not  seeking  personal  relief,  courteously 
assisted  him  in  his  stammering  request. 

"  If  I  understand  you,  you  want  some  one  to  act  as  your 
housekeeper  1 " 

"That's  it!  Somebody  to  kinder  look  arter  things  — 
and  me  —  ginrally, "  returned  Prosper,  greatly  relieved. 

"  Of  what  age  ? "  continued  the  manager,  with  a  cautious 
glance  at  the  robust  youth  and  good-looking,  simple  face  of 
Prosper. 

"I  ain't  nowise  partickler  —  ez  long  ez  she's  old  —  ye 
know.  Ye  follow  me?  Old  —  ez  ef  —  betwixt  you  an' 
me,  she  might  be  my  own  mother." 

The  manager  smiled  inwardly.  A  certain  degree  of  dis 
cretion  was  noticeable  in  this  rustic  youth !  "  You  are  quite 
right,"  he  answered  gravely,  "as  yours  is  a  mining  camp 
where  there  are  no  other  women.  Still,  you  don't  want 
any  one  too  old  or  decrepit.  There  is  an  elderly  maiden 
lady  "  —  But  a  change  was  transparently  visible  on  Pros 
per 's  simple  face,  and  the  manager  paused. 

"  She  oughter  be  kinder  married,  you  know  —  ter  be  like 
a  mother,"  stammered  Prosper. 

"Oh,  ay.  I  see,"  returned  the  manager,  again  illumi 
nated  by  Prosper 's  unexpected  wisdom. 


PROSPERS  OLD  MOTHER  161 

He  mused  for  a  moment.  "  There  is, "  he  hegan  tenta 
tively,  "a  lady  in  reduced  circumstances  —  not  an  inmate 
of  this  house,  but  who  has  received  some  relief  from  us. 
She  was  the  wife  of  a  whaling  captain  who  died  some  years 
ago,  and  broke  up  her  home.  She  was  not  brought  up  to 
work,  and  this,  with  her  delicate  health,  has  prevented  her 
from  seeking  active  employment.  As  you  don't  seem  to  re 
quire  that  of  her,  but  rather  want  an  overseer,  and  as  your 
purpose,  I  gather,  is  somewhat  philanthropical,  you  might 
induce  her  to  accept  a  '  home  '  with  you.  Having  seen  bet 
ter  days,  she  is  rather  particular,"  he  added,  with  a  shrewd 
smile. 

Simple  Prosper's  face  was  radiant.  "She'll  have  a 
Chinaman  and  a  Biddy  to  help  her,"  he  said  quickly.  Then 
recollecting  the  tastes  of  his  comrades,  he  added,  half  apolo 
getically,  half  cautiously,  "Ef  she  could,  now  and  then, 
throw  herself  into  a  lemming  pie  or  a  pot  of  doughnuts,  jest 
in  a  motherly  kind  o'  way,  it  would  please  the  boys." 

"Perhaps  you  can  arrange  that,  too,"  returned  the  man 
ager,  "but  I  shall  have  to  broach  the  whole  subject  to  her, 
and  you  had  better  call  again  to-morrow,  when  I  will  give 
you  her  answer." 

"  Ye  kin  say, "  said  Prosper,  lightly  fingering  his  massive 
gold  chain  and  somewhat  vaguely  recalling  the  language  of 
advertisement,  "that  she  kin  have  the  comforts  of  a  home 
and  no  questions  asked,  and  fifty  dollars  a  month." 

Rejoiced  at  the  easy  progress  of  his  plan,  and  half  in 
clined  to  believe  himself  a  miracle  of  cautious  diplomacy, 
Prosper,  two  days  later,  accompanied  the  manager  to  the 
cottage  on  Telegraph  Hill  where  the  relict  of  the  late  Cap 
tain  Pottinger  lamented  the  loss  of  her  spouse,  in  full  view 
of  the  sea  he  had  so  often  tempted.  On  their  way  thither 
the  manager  imparted  to  Prosper  how,  according  to  hearsay, 
that  lamented  seaman  had  carried  into  the  domestic  circle 
those  severe  habits  of  discipline  which  had  earned  for  him 


162  PROSPER'S  OLD  MOTHER 

the  prefix  of  "  Bully  "  and  "  Belaying-pin  "  Pottinger  dur 
ing  his  strenuous  life.  "They  say  that  though  she  is  very 
quiet  and  resigned,  she  once  or  twice  stood  up  to  the  cap 
tain;  but  that  *s  not  a  bad  quality  to  have,  in  a  rough  com 
munity,  as  I  presume  yours  is,  and  would  insure  her  re 
spect." 

Ushered  at  last  into  a  small  tank-like  sitting  room,  whose 
chief  decorations  consisted  of  large  abelone  shells,  dried 
marine  algae,  coral,  and  a  swordfish's  broken  weapon,  Pros 
per 's  disturbed  fancy  discovered  the  /widow,  sitting,  ap 
parently,  as  if  among  her  husband's  remains  at  the  bottom 
of  the  sea.  She  had  a  dejected  yet  somewhat  ruddy  face; 
her  hair  was  streaked  with  white,  but  primly  disposed  over 
her  ears  like  lappets,  and  her  garb  was  cleanly  but  sombre. 
There  was  no  doubt  but  that  she  was  a  lugubrious  figure, 
even  to  Prosper 's  optimistic  and  inexperienced  mind.  He 
could  not  imagine  her  as  beaming  on  his  hearth !  It  was 
with  some  alarm  that,  after  the  introduction  had  been  com 
pleted,  he  beheld  the  manager  take  his  leave.  As  the  door 
closed,  the  bashful  Prosper  felt  the  murky  eyes  of  the  widow 
fixed  upon  him.  A  gentle  cough,  accompanied  with  the 
resigned  laying  of  a  black  mittened  hand  upon  her  chest, 
suggested  a  genteel  prelude  to  conversation,  with  possible 
pulmonary  complications. 

"I  am  induced  to  accept  your  proposal  temporarily,"  she 
said,  in  a  voice  of  querulous  precision,  "  on  account  of  press 
ing  pecuniary  circumstances  which  would  not  have  happened 
had  my  claim  against  the  shipowners  for  my  dear  husband's 
loss  been  properly  raised.  I  hope  you  fully  understand  that 
I  am  unfitted  both  by  ill  health  and  early  education  from 
doing  any  menial  or  manual  work  in  your  household.  I 
shall  simply  oversee  and  direct.  I  shall  expect  that  the 
stipend  you  offer  shall  be  paid  monthly  in  advance.  And 
as  my  medical  man  prescribes  a  certain  amount  Of  stimula 
tion  for  my  system,  I  shall  expect  to  be  furnished  with  such 


PKOSPER'S   OLD   MOTHER  163 

viands  —  or  even  "  —  she  coughed  slightly  —  "  such  bever 
ages  as  may  be  necessary.  I  am  far  from  strong  —  yet  my 
wants  are  few." 

"Ez  far  ez  I  am  ketchin'  on  and  followin'  ye,  ma'am," 
returned  Prosper  timidly,  "ye '11  hev  everything  ye  want 

—  jest  like  it  was  yer  own  home.      In  fact,"  he  went  on, 
suddenly  growing  desperate  as  the  difficulties  of  adjusting 
this  unexpectedly  fastidious  and  superior  woman  to  his  plan 
seemed  to  increase,  "ye  '11  jest  consider  me  ez  yer  "  —    But 
here  her  murky  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  and  he  faltered.     Yet 
he  had  gone  too  far  to  retreat.      "Ye  see,"  he  stammered, 
with  a  hysterical  grimness  that  was  intended  to  be  playful 

—  "ye  see,  this  is  jest  a  little  secret  betwixt  and  between 
you  and  me ;  there  '11  be  only  you  and  me  in  the  house,  and 
it  would  kinder  seem  to  the  boys  more  homelike  —  ef  —  ef 

—  you  and  me  had  —  you  bein'   a  widder,  you  know  —  a 
kind  of  —  of  "  —  here  his  smile  became  ghastly  —  "  close 
relationship. " 

The  widow  of  Captain  Pottinger  here  sat  up  so  suddenly 
that  she  seemed  to  slip  through  her  sombre  and  precise  en- 
wrappings  with  an  exposure  of  the  real  Mrs.  Pottinger  that 
was  almost  improper.  Her  high  color  deepened ;  the  pupils 
of  her  black  eyes  contracted  in  the  light  the  innocent  Pros 
per  had  poured  into  them.  Leaning  forward,  with  her  fin 
gers  clasped  on  her  bosom,  she  said :  "  Did  you  tell  this  to 
the  manager  ? " 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Prosper;  "ye  see,  it's  only  a 
matter  'twixt  you  and  me." 

Mrs.  Pottinger  looked  at  Prosper,  drew  a  deep  breath, 
and  then  gazed  at  the  abelone  shells  for  moral  support. 
A  smile,  half  querulous,  half  superior,  crossed  her  face  as 
she  said :  "  This  is  very  abrupt  and  unusual.  There  is,  of 
course,  a  disparity  in  our  ages !  You  have  never  seen  me 
before  —  at  least  to  my  knowledge  —  although  you  may 
have  heard  of  me.  The  Spraggs  of  Marblehead  are  well 


164  PROSPER'S  OLD  MOTHER 

known  —  perhaps  better  than  the  Pottingers.  And  yet, 
Mr.  Griggs  "  — 

"Biggs,"  suggested  Prosper  hurriedly. 

"Biggs.  Excuse  me!  I4was  thinking  of  young  Lieu 
tenant  Griggs  of  the  Navy,  whom  I  knew  in  the  days  now 
past.  Mr.  Biggs,  I  should  say.  Then  you  want  me  to  "  — 

"To  be  my  old  mother,  ma'am,"  said  Prosper  trem 
blingly.  "That  is,  to  pretend  and  look  ez  ef  you  was! 
You  see,  I  haven't  any,  but  I  thought  it  would  be  nice  for 
the  boys,  and  make  it  more  like  home  in  my  new  house,  ef 
I  allowed  that  my  old  mother  would  be  comin'  to  live  with 
me.  They  don't  know  I  never  had  a  mother  to  speak  of. 
They  '11  never  find  it  out !  Say  ye  will,  Mrs.  Pottinger ! 
Do!" 

And  here  the  unexpected  occurred.  Against  all  conven 
tional  rules  and  all  accepted  traditions  of  fiction,  I  am 
obliged  to  state  that  Mrs.  Pottinger  did  not  rise  up  and 
order  the  trembling  Prosper  to  leave  the  house !  She  only 
gripped  the  arm  of  her  chair  a  little  tighter,  leaned  forward, 
and  disdaining  her  usual  precision  and  refinement  of  speech, 
said  quietly:  "It  's  a  bargain.  If  that's  what  you're 
wanting,  my  son,  you  can  count  upon  me  as  becoming  your 
old  mother,  Cecilia  Jane  Pottinger  Biggs,  every  time !  " 

A  few  days  later  the  sentimentalist  Joe  Wynbrook  walked 
into  the  Wild  Cat  saloon,  where  his  comrades  were  drink 
ing,  and  laid  a  letter  down  on  the  bar  with  every  expression 
of  astonishment  and  disgust.  "Look,"  he  said,  "if  that 
don't  beat  all!  Ye  wouldn't  believe  it,  but  here  's  Prossy 
Biggs  writin'  that  he  came  across  his  mother  —  his  mother, 
gentlemen  —  in  'Frisco;  she  hevin',  unbeknownst  to  him, 
joined  a  party  visiting  the  coast!  And  what  does  this 
blamed  fool  do  ?  Why,  he  's  goin'  to  bring  her  —  that  old 
woman  —  here  !  Here  —  gentlemen  —  to  take  charge  of 
that  new  house  —  and  spoil  our  fun.  And  thft  God-for 
saken  idiot  thinks  that  we  '11  like,  it!  " 


PROSPER'S   OLD   MOTHER  165 

It  was  one  of  those  rare  mornings  in  the  rainy  season 
when  there  was  a  suspicion  of  spring  in  the  air,  and  after 
a  night  of  rainfall  the  sun  broke  through  fleecy  clouds  with 
little  islets  of  blue  sky  —  when  Prosper  Biggs  and  his  mo 
ther  drove  into  Wild  Cat  camp.  An  expression  of  cheer 
fulness  was  on  the  faces  of  his  old  comrades.  For  it  had 
been  recognized  that,  after  all,  "  Prossy  "  had  a  perfect  right 
to  bring  his  old  mother  there  —  his  well-known  youth  and 
inexperience  preventing  this  baleful  performance  from  being 
established  as  a  precedent.  For  these  reasons  hats  were 
cheerfully  doffed,  and  some  jackets  put  on,  as  the  buggy 
swept  up  the  hill  to  the  pretty  new  cottage,  with  its  green 
blinds  and  white  veranda,  on  the  crest. 

Yet  I  am  afraid  that  Prosper  was  not  perfectly  happy, 
even  in  the  triumphant  consummation  of  his  plans.  Mrs. 
Pottinger's  sudden  and  business-like  acquiescence  in  it,  and 
her  singular  lapse  from  her  genteel  precision,  were  gratify 
ing  but  startling  to  his  ingenuousness.  And  although  from 
the  moment  she  accepted  the  situation  she  was  fertile  in 
resources  and  full  of  precaution  against  any  possibility  of 
detection,  he  saw,  with  some  uneasiness,  that  its  control  had 
passed  out  of  his  hands. 

"You  say  your  comrades  know  nothing  of  your  family 
history  1 "  she  had  said  to  him  on  the  journey  thither. 
"  What  are  you  going  to  tell  them  ?  " 

"Nothin',  'cept  your  bein'  my  old  mother,"  said  Pros 
per  hopelessly. 

"That  Js  not  enough,  my  son."  (Another  embarrassment 
to  Prosper  was  her  easy  grasp  of  the  maternal  epithets.) 
"Now  listen!  You  were  born  just  six  months  after  your 
father,  Captain  Biggs  (formerly  Pottinger)  sailed  on  his 
first  voyage.  You  remember  very  little  of  him,  of  course, 
as  he  was  away  so  much." 

"Hadn't  I  better  know  suthin  about  his  looks?"  said 
Prosper  submissively. 


166  PROSPER'S  OLD  MOTHER 

"A  tall  dark  man,  that 's  enough,"  responded  Mrs.  Pot- 
tinger  sharply. 

"Hadn't  he  better  favor  me?"  said  Prosper,  with  his 
small  cunning  recognizing  the  fact  that  he  himself  was  a 
decided  blond, 

"Ain't  at  all  necessary,"  said  the  widow  firmly.  "You 
were  always  wild  and  ungovernable,"  she  continued, "and 
ran  away  from  school  to  join  some  Western  emigration. 
That  accounts  for  the  difference  of  our  styles." 

"But,"  continued  Prosper,  "I  oughter  remember  suthin 
about  our  old  times  —  runnin'  arrants  for  you,  and  bringin' 
in  the  wood  o'  frosty  mornin's,  and  you  givin'  me  hot 
doughnuts,"  suggested  Prosper  dubiously. 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Mrs.  Pottinger  promptly. 
"  We  lived  in  the  city,  with  plenty  of  servants.  Just  re 
member,  Prosper  dear,  your  mother  wasn't  that  low-down 
country  style." 

Glad  to  be  relieved  from  further  invention,  Prosper  was, 
nevertheless,  somewhat  concerned  at  this  shattering  of  the 
ideal  mother  in  the  very  camp  that  had  sung  her  praises. 
But  he  could  only  trust  to  her  recognizing  the  situation 
with  her  usual  sagacity,  of  which  he  stood  in  respectful  awe. 

Joe  Wynbrook  and  Cyrus  Brewster  had,  as  older  mem 
bers  of  the  camp,  purposely  lingered  near  the  new  house  to 
offer  any  assistance  to  "Prossy  and  his  mother,"  and  had 
received  a  brief  and  passing  introduction  to  the  latter.  So 
deep  and  unexpected  was  the  impression  she  made  upon 
them  that  these  two  oracles  of  the  camp  retired  down  the 
hill  in  awkward  silence  for  some  time,  neither  daring  to  risk 
his  reputation  by  comment  or  oversurprise. 

But  when  they  approached  the  curious  crowd  below  await 
ing  them,  Cyrus  Brewster  ventured  to  say,  "  Struck  me  ez 
ef  that  old  gal  was  rather  high-toned  for  Prossy 's  mother." 

Joe  Wynbrook  instantly  seized  the  fatal  admission  to 
show  the  advantage  of  superior  insight :  — 


PROSPER'S  OLD  MOTHER  167 

"  Struck  you  !  Why,  it  was  no  more  than  7  expected  all 
along !  What  did  we  know  of  Prossy  ?  Nothin' !  What 
did  he  ever  tell  us?  Nothin' !  And  why1?  'Cos  it  was 
his  secret.  Lord !  a  blind  mule  could  see  that.  All  this 
foolishness  and  simplicity  o'  his  come  o'  his  bein'  cuddled 
and  pampered  as  a  baby.  Then,  like  ez  not,  he  was  either 
kidnapped  or  led  away  by  some  feller  —  and  nearly  broke 
his  mother's  heart.  I  '11  bet  my  bottom  dollar  he  has  been 
advertised  for  afore  this  —  only  we  didn't  see  the  paper. 
Like  as  not  they  had  agents  out  seekin'  him,  and  he  jest 
ran  into  their  hands  in  'Frisco!  I  had  a  kind  o'  presenti 
ment  o'  this  when  he  left,  though  I  never  let  on  anything." 

"I  reckon,  too,  that  she  's  kinder  afraid  he  '11  bolt  agin. 
Did  ye  notice  how  she  kept  watchin'  him  all  the  time,  and 
how  she  did  the  bossin'  o'  everything?  And  there  's  one 
thing  sure!  He  's  changed  —  yes!  He  don't  look  as  keer- 
less  and  free  and  foolish  ez  he  uster." 

Here  there  was  an  unmistakable  chorus  of  assent  from 
the  crowd  that  had  joined  them.  Every  one  —  even  those 
who  had  not  been  introduced  to  the  mother  —  had  noticed 
his  strange  restraint  and  reticence.  In  the  impulsive  logic 
of  the  camp,  conduct  such  as  this,  in  the  face  of  that  supe 
rior  woman  —  his  mother  —  could  only  imply  that  her  pre 
sence  was  distasteful  to  him ;  that  he  was  either  ashamed  of 
their  noticing  his  inferiority  to  her,  or  ashamed  of  them  ! 
Wild  and  hasty  as  was  their  deduction,  it  was,  nevertheless, 
voiced  by  Joe  Wynbrook  in  a  tone  of  impartial  and  even 
reluctant  conviction.  "Well,  gentlemen,  some  of  ye  may 
remember  that  when  I  heard  that  Prossy  was  bringin'  his 
mother  here  I  kicked  —  kicked  because  it  only  stood  to 
reason  that,  being  his  mother,  she  'd  be  that  foolish  she  'd 
upset  the  camp.  There  wasn't  room  enough  for  two  such 
chuckle-heads  —  and  one  of  'em  being  a  woman,  she  could 
n't  be  shut  up  or  sat  upon  ez  we  did  to  him.  But  now, 
gentlemen,  ez  we  see  she  ain't  that  kind,  but  high-toned 


168  PROSPER'S  OLD  MOTHER 

and  level-headed,  and  that  she  's  got  the  grip  on  Prossy  — 
whether  he  likes  it  or  not  —  we  ain't  goin'  to  let  him  go 
back  on  her!  No,  sir!  we  ain't  goin'  to  let  him  break  her 
heart  the  second  time !  He  may  think  we  ain't  good  enough 
for  her,  but  ez  long  ez  she  's  civil  to  us,  we  '11  stand  by 
her." 

In  this  conscientious  way  were  the  shackles  of  that  unhal 
lowed  relationship  slowly  riveted  on  the  unfortunate  Prossy. 
In  his  intercourse  with  his  comrades  during  the  next  two  or 
three  days  their  attitude  was  shown  in  frequent  and  osten 
tatious  praise  of  his  mother,  and  suggestive  advice,  such  as : 
"I  wouldn't  stop  at  the  saloon,  Prossy;  your  old  mother 
is  wantin'  ye;"  or,  "Chuck  that  'ere  tarpolin  over  your 
shoulders,  Pross,  and  don't  take  your  wet  duds  into  the 
house  that  yer  old  mother  's  bin  makin'  tidy."  Oddly 
enough,  much  of  this  advice  was  quite  sincere,  and  repre 
sented —  for  at  least  twenty  minutes  —  the  honest  senti 
ments  of  the  speaker.  Prosper  was  touched  at  what  seemed 
a  revival  of  the  sentiment  under  which  he  had  acted,  forgot 
his  uneasiness,  and  became  quite  himself  again  —  a  fact  also 
noticed  by  his  critics.  "  Ye  've  only  to  keep  him  up  to  his 
work  and  he  '11  be  the  widder's  joy  agin,"  said  Cyrus  Brew- 
ster.  Certainly  he  was  so  far  encouraged  that  he  had  a  long 
conversation  with  Mrs.  Pottinger  that  night,  with  the  result 
that  the  next  morning  Joe  Wynbrook,  Cyrus  Brewster, 
Hank  Mann,  and  Kentucky  Ike  were  invited  to  spend  the 
evening  at  the  new  house.  As  the  men,  clean  shirted  and 
decently  jacketed,  filed  into  the  neat  sitting  room  with  its 
bright  carpet,  its  cheerful  fire,  its  side  table  with  a  snowy 
cloth  on  which  shining  tea  and  coffee  pots  were  standing, 
their  hearts  thrilled  with  satisfaction.  In  a  large  stuffed 
rocking  chair,  Prossy 's  old  mother,  wrapped  up  in  a  shawl 
and  some  mysterious  ill  health  which  seemed  to  forbid  any 
exertion,  received  them  with  genteel  languor  and  an  ex 
tended  black  mitten. 


PROSPER'S  OLD  MOTHER  169 

"I  cannot,"  said  Mrs.  Pottinger,  with  sad  pensiveness, 
"  offer  you  the  hospitality  of  my  own  home,  gentlemen  — 
you  remember,  Prosper,  dear,  the  large  salon  and  our  staff 
of  servants  at  Lexington  Avenue !  —  but  since  my  son  has 
persuaded  me  to  take  charge  of  his  humble  cot,  I  hope  you 
will  make  all  allowances  for  its  deficiencies  —  even,"  she 
added,  casting  a  look  of  mild  reproach  on  the  astonished 
Prosper  —  "even  if  he  cannot." 

"I  'm  sure  he  oughter  to  be  thankful  to  ye,  ma'am,"  said 
Joe  Wynbrook  quickly,  "for  makin'  a  break  to  come  here 
to  live,  jest  ez  we're  thankful  —  speakin'  for  the  rest  of 
this  camp  —  for  yer  lightin'  us  up  ez  you're  doin' !  I 
reckon  I'm  speakin'  for  the  crowd,"  he  added,  looking 
round  him. 

Murmurs  of  "That 's  so  "  and  "You  bet "  passed  through 
the  company,  and  one  or  two  cast  a  half-indignant  glance 
at  Prosper. 

"It 's  only  natural,"  continued  Mrs.  Pottinger  resignedly, 
"  that  having  lived  so  long  alone,  my  dear  Prosper  may  at 
first  be  a  little  impatient  of  hie  old  mother's  control,  and 
perhaps  regret  his  invitation." 

"Oh  no,  ma'am,"  said  the  embarrassed  Prosper. 

But  here  the  mercurial  Wynbrook  interposed  on  behalf 
of  amity  and  the  camp's  esprit  de  corps.  "Why,  Lord! 
ma'am,  he  's  jest  bin  longin'  for  ye!  Times  and  times  agin 
he  's  talked  about  ye;  sayin'  how  ef  he  could  only  get  ye 
out  of  yer  Fifth  Avenue  saloon  to  share  his  humble  lot  with 
him  here,  he  'd  die  happy !  You  've  heard  him  talk,  Brew- 
ster?" 

"Frequent,"  replied  the  accommodating  Brewster. 

"Part  of  the  simple  refreshment  I  have  to  offer  you," 
continued  Mrs.  Pottinger,  ignoring  further  comment,  "is  a 
viand  the  exact  quality  of  which  I  am  not  familiar  with,  but 
which  my  son  informs  me  is  a  great  favorite  with  you.  It 
has  been  prepared  by  Li  Sing,  under  my  direction.  Pros- 


170  PKOSPER'S  OLD  MOTHER 

pet,  dear,  see  that  the  —  er  —  doughnuts  —  are  brought  in 
with  the  coffee." 

Satisfaction  beamed  on  the  faces  of  the  company,  with 
perhaps  the  sole  exception  of  Prosper.  As  a  dish  contain 
ing  a  number  of  brown  glistening  spheres  of  baked  dough 
was  brought  in,  the  men's  eyes  shone  in  sympathetic  appre 
ciation.  Yet  that  epicurean  light  was  for  a  moment  dulled 
as  each  man  grasped  a  sphere,  and  then  sat  motionless  with 
it  in  his  hand,  as  if  it  was  a  ball  and  they  were  waiting  the 
signal  for  playing. 

"I  am  told,"  said  Mrs.  Pottinger,  with  a  glance  of  Chris 
tian  tolerance  at  Prosper,  "  that  lightness  is  considered  de 
sirable  by  some  —  perhaps  you  gentlemen  may  find  them 
heavy. " 

"  Thar  is  two  kinds, "  said  the  diplomatic  Joe  cheerfully, 
as  he  began  to  nibble  his,  sideways,  like  a  squirrel,  "light 
and  heavy;  some  likes  'em  one  way,  and  some  another." 

They  were  hard  and  heavy,  but  the  men,  assisted  by  the 
steaming  coffee,  finished  them  with  heroic  politeness. 
"And  now,  gentlemen,"  said  Mrs.  Pottinger,  leaning  back 
in  her  chair  and  calmly  surveying  the  party,  "you  have  my 
permission  to  light  your  pipes  while  you  partake  of  some 
whiskey  and  water." 

The  guests  looked  up  —  gratified  but  astonished.  "  Are 
ye  sure,  ma'am,  you  don't  mind  it? "  said  Joe  politely. 

"Not  at  all,"  responded  Mrs.  Pottinger  briefly.  "In 
fact,  as  my  physician  advises  the  inhalation  of  tobacco  smoke 
for  my  asthmatic  difficulties,  I  will  join  you."  After  a 
moment's  fumbling  in  a  beaded  bag  that  hung  from  her 
waist,  she  produced  a  small  black  clay  pipe,  filled  it  from 
the  same  receptacle,  and  lit  it. 

A  thrill  of  surprise  went  round  the  company,  and  it  was 
noticed  that  Prosper  seemed  equally  confounded.^  Never 
theless,  this  awkwardness  was  quickly  overcome  by  the 
privilege  and  example  given  them,  and  with  a  glass  of  whis- 


PROSPER'S  OLD  MOTHER  171 

key  and  water  before  them,  the  men  were  speedily  at  their 
ease.  Nor  did  Mrs.  Pottinger  disdain  to  mingle  in  their 
desultory  talk.  Sitting  there  with  her  black  pipe  in  her 
mouth,  but  still  precise  and  superior,  she  told  a  thrilling 
whaling  adventure  of  Prosper's  father  (drawn  evidently  from 
the  experience  of  the  lamented  Pottinger),  which  not  only 
deeply  interested  her  hearers,  but  momentarily  exalted 
Prosper  in  their  minds  as  the  son  of  that  hero.  "Now  you 
speak  o'  that,  ma'am,"  said  the  ingenuous  Wynbrook, 
"there  's  a  good  deal  o'  Prossy  in  that  yarn  o'  his  father's; 
same  kind  o'  keerless  grit !  You  remember,  boys,  that  day 
the  dam  broke  and  he  stood  thar,  the  water  up  to  his  neck, 
heavin'  logs  in  the  break  till  he  stopped  it."  Briefly,  the 
evening,  in  spite  of  its  initial  culinary  failure  and  its  sur 
prises,  was  a  decided  social  success,  and  even  the  bewildered 
and  doubting  Prosper  went  to  bed  relieved.  It  was  fol 
lowed  by  many  and  more  informal  gatherings  at  the  house, 
and  Mrs.  Pottinger  so  far  unbent  —  if  that  term  could  be 
used  of  one  who  never  altered  her  primness  of  manner  — 
as  to  join  in  a  game  of  poker  —  and  even  permitted  herself 
to  win. 

But  by  the  end  of  six  weeks  another  change  in  their  feel 
ings  towards  Prosper  seemed  to  creep  insidiously  over  the 
camp.  He  had  been  received  into  his  former  fellowship, 
and  even  the  presence  of  his  mother  had  become  familiar, 
but  he  began  to  be  an  object  of  secret  commiseration.  They 
still  frequented  the  house,  but  among  themselves  afterwards 
they  talked  in  whispers.  There  was  no  doubt  to  them  that 
Prosper's  old  mother  drank  not  only  what  her  son  had 
provided,  but  what  she  surreptitiously  obtained  from  the 
saloon.  There  was  the  testimony  of  the  barkeeper,  himself 
concerned  equally  with  the  camp  in  the  integrity  of  the 
Biggs  household.  And  there  was  an  even  darker  suspicion. 
But  this  must  be  given  in  Joe  Wynbrook 's  own  words:  — 

"I  did  n't  mind  the  old  woman  winnin'  and  winnin'  reg'- 


172  PROSPER'S  OLD  MOTHER 

lar —  for  poker  's  an  unsartin  game;  —  it  ain't  the  money 
that  we 're  losin' — for  it's  all  in  the  camp.  But  when 
she  's  developing  a  habit  o'  holdin'  four  aces  when  some 
body  else  hez  two,  who  don't  like  to-  let  on  because  it 's 
Prosper's  old  mother  —  it 's  gettin'  rough !  And  dangerous 
too,  gentlemen,  if  there  happened  to  be  an  outsider  in,  or 
one  of  the  boys  should  kick.  Why,  I  saw  Bilson  grind  his 
teeth  —  he  holdin'  a  sequence  flush  —  ace  high  —  when  the 
dear  old  critter  laid  down  her  reg'lar  four  aces  and  raked 
in  the  pile.  We  had  to  nearly  kick  his  legs  off  under  the 
table  afore  he'd  understand  —  not  havin'  an  old  mother 
himself." 

"  Some  un  will  hev  to  tackle  her  without  Prossy  knowin' 
it.  For.  it  would  jest  break  his  heart,  arter  all  he  's  gone 
through  to  get  her  here ! "  said  Brewster  significantly. 

"  Onless  he  did  know  it  and  it  was  that  what  made  him 
so  sorrowful  when  they  first  came.  B'gosh!  I  never 
thought  o'  that,"  said  Wynbrook,  with  one  of  his  charac 
teristic  sudden  illuminations. 

"Well,  gentlemen,  whether  he  did  or  not,"  said  the  bar 
keeper  stoutly,  "he  must  never  know  that  we  know  it. 
No,  not  if  the  old  gal  cleans  out  my  bar  and  takes  the  last 
scad  in  the  camp." 

And  to  this  noble  sentiment  they  responded  as  one  man. 

How  far  they  would  have  been  able  to  carry  out  that 
heroic  resolve  was  never  known,  for  an  event  occurred 
which  eclipsed  its  importance.  One  morning  at  breakfast 
Mrs.  Pottinger  fixed  a  clouded  eye  upon  Prosper. 

"Prosper,"  she  said,  with  fell  deliberation,  "you  ought 
to  know  you  have  a  sister." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  returned  Prosper,  with  that  meekness 
with  which  he  usually  received  these  family  disclosures. 

"A  sister,"  continued  the  lady,  "whom  you  have  n't  seen 
since  you  were  a  child;  a  sister  who  for  family  reasons 
has  been  living  with  other  relatives;  a  girl  of  nineteen." 


PROSPER'S  OLD  MOTHER  173 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Prosper  humbly.  "But  ef  you 
wouldn't  mind  writin'  all  that  down  on  a  bit  o'  paper  —  ye 
know  my  short  memory !  —  I  would  get  it  by  heart  to-day 
in  the  gulch.  I  'd  have  it  all  pat  enough  by  night,  ef,"  he 
added,  with  a  short  sigh,  "ye  was  kalkilatin'  to  make  any 
illusions  to  it  when  the  boys  are  here."  « 

"  Your  sister  Augusta, "  continued  Mrs.  Pottinger,  calmly 
ignoring  these  details,  "  will  be  here  to-morrow  to  make  me 
a  visit." 

But  here  the  worm  Prosper  not  only  turned,  but  stood 
up,  nearly  upsetting  the  table.  "It  can't  be  did,  ma'am! 
it  mustn't  be  did!  "  he  said  wildly.  "It 's  enough  for  me 
to  have  played  this  camp  with  you  —  but  now  to  run  in  "  — 

"Can't  be  did!"  repeated  Mrs.  Pottinger,  rising  in  her 
turn  and  fixing  upon  the  unfortunate  Prosper  a  pair  of 
murky  piratical  eyes  that  had  once  quelled  the  sea-roving 
Pottinger.  "Do  you,  my  adopted  son,  dare  to  tell  me  that 
I  can't  have  my  own  flesh  and  blood  beneath  my  roof?  " 

"  Yes !  I'd  rather  tell  the  whole  story  —  I'd  rather  tell 
the  boys  I  fooled  them  —  than  go  on  again !  "  burst  out  the 
excited  Prosper. 

But  Mrs.  Pottinger  only  set  her  lips  implacably  together. 
"Very  well,  tell  them  then,"  she  said  rigidly;  "tell  them 
how  you  lured  me  from  my  humble  dependence  in  San 
Francisco  with  the  prospect  of  a  home  with  you;  tell  them 
how  you  compelled  me  to  deceive  their  trusting  hearts  with 
your  wicked  falsehoods ;  tell  them  how  you  —  a  foundling 
—  borrowed  me  for  your  mother,  my  poor  dead  husband  for 
your  father,  and  made  me  invent  falsehood  upon  falsehood 
to  tell  them  while  you  sat  still  and  listened ! " 

Prosper  gasped. 

"Tell  them,"  she  went  on  deliberately,  "that  when  I 
wanted  to  bring  my  helpless  child  to  her  only  home  —  then, 
only  then  —  you  determined  to  break  your  word  to  me, 
either  because  you  meanly  begrudged  her  that  share  of  your 


174  PROSPER' s  OLD  MOTHER 

house,  or  to  keep  your  misdeeds  from  her  knowledge !    Tell 
them  that,  Prossy,  dear,  and  see  what  they  '11  say !  " 

Prosper  sank  back  in  his  chair  aghast.  In  his  sudden 
instinct  of  revolt  he  had  forgotten  the  camp !  He  knew, 
alas,  too  well  what  they  would  say !  He  knew  that,  added 
to  their  indignation  at  having  been  duped,  their  chivalry 
and  absurd  sentiment  would  rise  in  arms  against  the  aban 
donment  of  two  helpless  women ! 

"P'r'aps  ye 're  right,  ma'am,"  he  stammered.  "I  was 
only  thinkin',"  he  added  feebly,  "how  she  'd  take  it." 

"She  '11  take  it  as  I  wish  her  to  take  it,"  said  Mrs.  Pot- 
tinger  firmly. 

"  Supposing  ez  the  camp  don't  know  her,  and  I  ain't  bin 
talkin'  o'  havin'  any  sister,  you  ran  her  in  here  as  my 
cousin  ?  See  ?  You  bein'  her  aunt  1 " 

Mrs.  Pottinger  regarded  him  with  compressed  lips  for 
some  time.  Then  she  said,  slowly  and  half  meditatively: 
"  Yes,  it  might  be  done !  She  will  probably  be  willing  to 
sacrifice  her  nearer  relationship  to  save  herself  from  passing 
as  your  sister.  It  would  be  less  galling  to  her  pride,  and 
she  wouldn't  have  to  treat  you  so  familiarly." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Prosper,  too  relieved  to  notice  the 
uncomplimentary  nature  of  the  suggestion.  "And  ye  see 
I  could  call  her  '  Miss  Pottinger, '  which  would  come  easier 
to  me." 

In  its  high  resolve  to  bear  with  the  weaknesses  of  Pros- 
per's  mother,  the  camp  received  the  news  of  the  advent  of 
Prosper 's  cousin  solely  with  reference  to  its  possible  effect 
upon  the  aunt's  habits,  and  very  little  other  curiosity. 
Prosper 's  own  reticence,  they  felt,  was  probably  due  to  the 
tender  age  at  which  he  had  separated  from  his  relations. 
But  when  it  was  known  that  Prosper's  mother  had  driven 
to  the  house  with  a  very  pretty  girl  of  eighteen,  there  was 
a  flutter  of  excitement  in  that  impressionable  community. 
Prosper,  with  his  usual  shyness,  had  evaded  an  early  meet- 


PROSPER'S  OLD  MOTHER  175 

ing  with  her,  and  was  even  loitering  irresolutely  on  his  way 
home  from  work,  when,  as  he  approached  the  house,  to  his 
discomfiture  the  door  suddenly  opened,  the  young  lady  ap 
peared  and  advanced  directly  towards  him. 

She  was  slim,  graceful,  and  prettily  dressed,  and  at  any 
other  moment  Prosper  might  have  been  impressed  by  her 
good  looks.  But  her  brows  were  knit,  her  dark  eyes  —  in 
which  there  was  an  unmistakable  reminiscence  of  Mrs.  Pot- 
tinger  —  were  glittering,  and  although  she  was  apparently 
anticipating  their  meeting,  it  was  evidently  with  no  cousinly 
interest.  When  within  a  few  feet  of  him  she  stopped. 
Prosper  with  a  feeble  smile  offered  his  hand.  She  sprang 
back. 

"Don't  touch  me!  Don't  come  a  step  nearer  or  I'll 
scream ! " 

Prosper,  still  with  smiling  inanity,  stammered  that  he 
was  only  "goin'  to  shake  hands,"  and  moved  sideways 
towards  the  house. 

"  Stop !  "  she  said,  with  a  stamp  of  her  slim  foot.  "  Stay 
where  you  are!  We  must  have  our  talk  out  here.  I'm 
not  going  to  waste  words  with  you  in  there,  before  her." 

Prosper  stopped. 

"  What  did  you  do  this  for  ?  "  she  said  angrily.  "  How 
dared  you  ?  How  could  you  ?  Are  you  a  man,  or  the  fool 
she  takes  you  for  1 " 

" Wot  did  I  do  wot  for? "  said  Prosper  sullenly. 

"This!  Making  my  mother  pretend  you  were  her  son! 
Bringing  her  here  among  these  men  to  live  a  lie ! " 

"She  was  willin',"  said  Prosper  gloomily.  "I  told  her 
what  she  had  to  do,  and  she  seemed  to  like  it." 

"But  couldn't  you  see  she  was  old  and  weak,  and  was 
n't  responsible  for  her  actions'?  Or  were  you  only  thinking 
of  yourself  ?  " 

This  last  taunt  stung  him.  He  looked  up.  He  was  not 
facing  a  helpless,  dependent  old  woman  as  he  had  been  the 


178  PROSPERS  OLD  MOTHER 

free  from  any  suspicion  of  coquetry  —  that  there  were  no 
heartburnings,  and  the  unlucky  man  who  nourished  a  fan 
cied  slight  would  have  been  laughed  at  by  his  fellows.  She 
had  a  town-bred  girl's  curiosity  and  interest  in  camp  life, 
which  she  declared  was  like  a  "perpetual  picnic,"  and  her 
slim,  graceful  figure  halting  beside  a  ditch  where  the  men 
were  working  seemed  to  them  as  grateful  as  the  new  spring 
sunshine.  The  whole  camp  became  tidier ;  a  coat  was  con 
sidered  de  rigueur  at  "Prossy's  mother7'  evenings;  there 
was  less  horseplay  in  the  trails,  and  less  shouting.  "It's 
all  very  well  to  talk  about  '  old  mothers, '  "  said  the  cynical 
barkeeper,  "  but  that  gal,  single  handed,  has  done  more  in 
a  week  to  make  the  camp  decent  than  old  Ma'am  Kiggs  has 
in  a  month  o'  Sundays." 

Since  Prosper's  brief  conversation  with  Miss  Pottinger 
before  the  house,  the  question  "What  is  to  be  done?  "  had 
singularly  lapsed,  nor  had  it  been  referred  to  again  by 
either.  The  young  lady  had  apparently  thrown  herself  into 
the  diversions  of  the  camp  with  the  thoughtless  gayety  of 
a  brief  holiday  maker,  and  it  was  not  for  him  to  remind  her 

—  even  had  he  wished  to  —  that  her  important  question 
had  never  been  answered.      He  had  enjoyed  her  happiness 
with  the  relief  of  a  secret  shared  by  her.     Three  weeks  had 
passed;  the  last  of  the  winter's  rains  had  gone.      Spring 
was  stirring  in  underbrush  and  wildwood,  in  the  pulse  of 
the  waters,  in  the  sap  of  the  great  pines,  in  the  uplifting  of 
flowers.     Small  wonder  if  Prosper's  boyish  heart  had  stirred 
a  little  too. 

In  fact,  he  had  been  possessed  by  another  luminous  idea 

—  a  wild  idea  that  to  him  seemed  almost  as  absurd  as  the 
one  which  had  brought  him  all  this  trouble.      It  had  come 
to  him  like  that  one  —  out  of  a  starlit  night  —  and  he  had 
risen  one  morning  with  a  feverish   intent  to   put  it  into 
action !  It  brought  him  later  to  take  an  unprecedented  walk 
alone  with  Miss  Pottinger,  to  linger  under  green  leaves  in 


PROSPERS  OLD  MOTHER  179 

unfrequented  woods,  and  at  last  seemed  about  to  desert 
him  as  he  stood  in  a  little  hollow  with  her  hand  in  his  — 
their  only  listener  an  inquisitive  squirrel.  Yet  this  was 
all  the  disappointed  animal  heard  him  stammer,  — 

"So  you  see,  dear,  it  would  then  be  no  lie  —  for  —  don't 
you  see?  —  she  'd  be  really  my  mother  as  well  as  yours." 

The  marriage  of  Prosper  Riggs  and  Miss  Pottinger  was 
quietly  celebrated  at  Sacramento,  but  Prossy's  "  old  mother  n 
did  not  return  with  the  happy  pair. 

Of  Mrs.  Pottinger' s  later  career  some  idea  may  be  gath 
ered  from  a  letter  which  Prosper  received  a  year  after  his 
marriage.  " Circumstances, "  wrote  Mrs.  Pottinger,  "which 
had  induced  me  to  accept  the  offer  of  a  widower  to  take  care 
of  his  motherless  household,  have  since  developed  into  a 
more  enduring  matrimonial  position,  so  that  I  can  always 
offer  my  dear  Prosper  a  home  with  his  mother,  should  he 
choose  to  visit  this  locality,  and  a  second  father  in  Hiram 
W.  Watergates,  Esq.,  her  husband." 


THE  CONVALESCENCE  OF  JACK  HAMLIN 


THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF   JACK  HAMLIN 

THE  habitually  quiet,  ascetic  face  of  Seth  Rivers  was 
somewhat  disturbed  and  his  brows  were  knitted  as  he 
climbed  the  long  ascent  of  Windy  Hill  to  its  summit  and 
his  own  rancho.  Perhaps  it  was  the  effect  of  the  character 
istic  wind,  which  that  afternoon  seemed  to  assault  him  from 
all  points  at  once  and  did  not  cease  its  battery  even  at  his 
front  door,  but  hustled  him  into  the  passage,  blew  him  into 
the  sitting  room,  and  then  celebrated  its  own  exit  from  the 
long,  rambling  house  by  the  banging  of  doors  throughout 
the  halls  and  the  slamming  of  windows  in  the  remote  dis 
tance. 

Mrs.  Rivers  looked  up  from  her  work  at  this  abrupt  on 
set  of  her  husband,  but  without  changing  her  own  expres 
sion  of  slightly  fatigued  self-righteousness.  Accustomed  to 
these  elemental  eruptions,  she  laid  her  hands  from  force  of 
habit  upon  the  lifting  tablecloth,  and  then  rose  submissively 
to  brush  together  the  scattered  embers  and  ashes  from  the 
large  hearthstone,  as  she  had  often  done  before. 

"You  're  in  early,  Seth,"  she  said. 

"  Yes.  I  stopped  at  the  Cross  Roads  Post  Office.  Lucky 
I  did,  or  you  'd  hev  had  kempany  on  your  hands  afore  you 
knowed  it  —  this  very  night !  I  found  this  letter  from  Dr. 
Duchesne,"  and  he  produced  a  letter  from  his  pocket. 

Mrs.  Rivers  looked  up  with  an  expression  of  worldly  in 
terest.  Dr.  Duchesne  had  brought  her  two  children  into 
the  world  with  some  difficulty,  and  had  skillfully  attended 
her  through  a  long  illness  consequent  upon  the  inefficient 
maternity  of  soulful  but  fragile  American  women  of  her 
type.  The  doctor  had  more  than  a  mere  local  reputation  as 


184  THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF   JACK   HAMLIN 

a  surgeon,  and  Mrs.  Elvers  looked  up  to  him  as  her  sole  con 
necting  link  with  a  world  of  thought  beyond  Windy  Hill. 

"He  's  comin'  up  yer  to-night,  bringin'  a  friend  of  his 
—  a  patient  that  he  wants  us  to  board  and  keep  for  three 
weeks  until  he's  well  agin,"  continued  Mr.  Rivers.  "Ye 
know  how  the  doctor  used  to  rave  about  the  pure  air  on  our 
hill." 

Mrs.  Rivers  shivered  slightly,  and  drew  her  shawl  over 
her  shoulders,  but  nodded  a  patient  assent. 

"Well,  he  says  it 's  just  what  that  patient  oughter  have 
to  cure  him.  He  's  had  lung  fever  and  other  things,  and 
this  yer  air  and  gin'ral  quiet  is  bound  to  set  him  up. 
We  're  to  board  and  keep  him  without  any  fuss  or  feathers, 
and  the  doctor  sez  he  '11  pay  liberal  for  it.  This  yer  's  what 
he  sez, "  concluded  Mr.  Rivers,  reading  from  the  letter : 
" '  He  is  now  fully  convalescent,  though  weak,  and  really 
requires  no  other  medicine  than  the  —  ozone  '  — yes,  that 's 
what  the  doctor  calls  it '  —  'of  Windy  Hill,  and  in  fact  as 
little  attendance  as  possible.  I  will  not  let  him  keep  even 
his  negro  servant  with  him.  He  '11  give  you  no  trouble,  if  he 
can  be  prevailed  upon  to  stay  the  whole  time  of  his  cure. '  " 

"There's  our  spare  room  —  it  hasn't  been  used  since 
Parson  Greenwood  was  here,"  said  Mrs.  Rivers  reflectively. 
"Melinda  could  put  it  to  rights  in  an  hour.  At  what  time 
will  he  come  ?  " 

"  He  'd  come  about  nine.  They  drive  over  from  High- 
town  depot.  But,"  he  added  grimly,  "here  ye  are  orderin' 
rooms  to  be  done  up  and  ye  don't  know  who  for." 

"You  said  a  friend  of  Dr.  Duchesne,"  returned  Mrs. 
Rivers  simply. 

"Dr.  Duchesne  has  many  friends  that  you  and  me  might 
n't  cotton  to,"  said  her  husband.  "This  man  is  Jack 
Hamlin."  As  his  wife's  remote  and  introspective  black 
eyes  returned  only  vacancy,  he  added  quickly.  "¥he  noted 
gambler ! " 


THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK  HAMLIN  185 

"Gambler?  "  echoed  his  wife,  still  vaguely. 

"Yes  —  reg'lar;  it's  his  business." 

"Goodness,  Seth!     He  can't  expect  to  do  it  here." 

"No,"  said  Seth  quickly,  with  that  sense  of  fairness  to 
his  fellow  man  which  most  women  find  it  so  difficult  to  un 
derstand.  "No  —  and  he  probably  won't  mention  the 
word  '  card  '  while  he  's  here." 

"Well?"  said  Mrs.  Rivers  interrogatively. 

"And,"  continued  Seth,  seeing  that  the  objection  was 
not  pressed,  "he's  one  of  them  desprit  men!  A  reg'lar 
fighter !  Killed  two  or  three  men  in  dools !  " 

Mrs.  Rivers  stared.  "What  could  Dr.  Duchesne  have 
been  thinking  of?  Why,  we  wouldn't  be  safe  in  the  house 
with  him ! " 

Again  Seth's  sense  of  equity  triumphed.  "I  never  heard 
of  his  fightin'  anybody  but  his  own  kind,  and  when  he  was 
bullyragged.  And  ez  to  women  he  's  quite  t'  other  way 
in  fact,  and  that 's  why  I  think  ye  oughter  know  it  afore 
you  let  him  come.  He  don't  go  round  with  decent  women. 
In  fact "  —  But  here  Mr.  Rivers,  in  the  sanctity  of  con 
jugal  confidences  and  the  fullness  of  Bible  reading,  used  a 
few  strong  scriptural  substantives  happily  unnecessary  to 
repeat  here. 

"Seth! "  said  Mrs.  Rivers  suddenly,  "you  seem  to  know 
this  man." 

The  unexpectedness  and  irrelevancy  of  this  for  a  moment 
startled  Seth.  But  that  chaste  and  God-fearing  man  had 
no  secrets.  "Only  by  hearsay,  Jane,"  he  returned  quietly; 
"but  if  ye  say  the  word  I  '11  stop  his  comin'  now." 

"It's  too  late,"  said  Mrs.  Rivers  decidedly. 

"I  reckon  not,"  returned  her  husband,  "and  that 's  why 
I  came  straight  here.  I  've  only  got  to  meet  them  at  the 
depot  and  say  this  thing  can't  be  done  —  and  that's  the 
end  of  it.  They  '11  go  off  quiet  to  the  hotel." 

"I  don't  like  to  disappoint  the  doctor,  Seth,"  said  Mrs. 


186  THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF   JACK   HAMLIN 

Rivers.  "We  might,"  she  added,  with  a  troubled  look  of 
inquiry  at  her  husband,  "we  might  take  that  Mr.  Hamlin 
on  trial.  Like  as  not  he  won't  stay,  anyway,  when  he  sees 
what  we  're  like,  Seth.  What  do  you  think  ?  It  would  be 
only  our  Christian  duty,  too." 

"I  was  thinkin'  o'  that  as  a  professin'  Christian,  Jane," 
said  her  husband.  "But  supposin'  that  other  Christians 
don't  look  at  it  in  that  light.  Thar  's  Deacon  Stubbs  and 
his  wife  and  the  parson.  Ye  remember  what  he  said  about 
'  no  covenant  with  sin  '  ?  " 

"The  Stubbses  have  no  right  to  dictate  who  I  '11  have  in 
my  house,"  said  Mrs.  Kivers  quickly,  with  a  faint  flush  in 
her  rather  sallow  cheeks. 

"It 's  your  say  and  nobody  else's,"  assented  her  husband 
with  grim  submissiveness.  "You  do  what  you  like." 

Mrs.  Kivers  mused.  "There  's  only  myself  and  Melinda 
here,"  she  said  with  sublime  naivete';  "and  the  children 
ain't  old  enough  to  be  corrupted.  I  am  satisfied  if  you  are, 
Seth,"  and  she  again  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"Go  ahead,  then,  and  get  ready  for  'em,"  said  Seth,  hur 
rying  away  with  unaffected  relief.  "  If  you  have  everything 
fixed  by  nine  o'clock,  that  '11  do." 

Mrs.  Rivers  had  everything  "  fixed  "  by  that  hour,  in 
cluding  herself  presumably,  for  she  had  put  on  a  gray  dress 
which  she  usually  wore  when  shopping  in  the  county  town, 
adding  a  prim  collar  and  cuffs.  A  pearl-encircled  brooch, 
the  wedding  gift  of  Seth,  and  a  solitaire  ring  next  to  her 
wedding  ring,  with  a  locket  containing  her  children's  hair, 
accented  her  position  as  a  proper  wife  and  mother.  At  a 
quarter  to  nine  she  had  finished  tidying  the  parlor,  opening 
the  harmonium  so  that  the  light  might  play  upon  its  pol 
ished  keyboard,  and  bringing  from  the  forgotten  seclusion 
of  her  closet  two  beautifully  bound  volumes  of  Tupper's 
"Poems"  and  Pollok's  "Course  of  Time,  "to  impart  a  liter 
ary  grace  to  the  centre  table.  She  then  drew  a  chair  to  the 


THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK   HAMLIN  187 

table  and  sat  down  before  it  with  a  religious  magazine  in 
her  lap.  The  wind  roared  over  the  deep-throated  chimney, 
the  clock  ticked  monotonously,  and  then  there  came  the 
sound  of  wheels  and  voices. 

But  Mrs.  Rivers  was  not  destined  to  see  her  guest  that 
night.  Dr.  Duchesne,  under  the  safe  lee  of  the  door,  ex 
plained  that  Mr.  Hamlin  had  been  exhausted  by  the  jour 
ney,  and,  assisted  by  a  mild  opiate,  was  asleep  in  the  car 
riage;  that  if  Mrs.  Rivers  did  not  object,  they  would  carry 
him  at  once  to  his  room.  In  the  flaring  and  guttering  of 
candles,  the  flashing  of  lanterns,  the  flapping  of  coats  and 
shawls,  and  the  bewildering  rush  of  wind,  Mrs.  Rivers  was 
only  vaguely  conscious  of  a  slight  figure  muffled  tightly  in 
a  cloak  carried  past  her  in  the  arms  of  a  grizzled  negro  up 
the  staircase,  followed  by  Dr.  Duchesne.  With  the  clos 
ing  of  the  front  door  on  the  tumultuous  world  without,  a 
silence  fell  again  on  the  little  parlor. 

When  the  doctor  made  his  reappearance  it  was  to  say 
that  his  patient  was  being  undressed  and  put  to  bed  by  his 
negro  servant,  who,  however,  would  return  with  the  doctor 
to-night,  but  that  the  patient  would  be  left  with  everything 
that  was  necessary,  and  that  he  would  require  no  attention 
from  the  family  until  the  next  day.  Indeed,  it  was  better 
that  he  should  remain  undisturbed.  As  the  doctor  confined 
his  confidences  and  instructions  entirely  to  the  physical  con 
dition  of  their  guest,  Mrs.  Rivers  found  it  awkward  to  press 
other  inquiries. 

"Of  course,  "she  said  at  last  hesitatingly,  but  with  a  cer 
tain  primness  of  expression,  "  Mr.  Hamlin  must  expect  to  find 
everything  here  very  different  from  what  he  is  accustomed 
to  —  at  least  from  what  my  husband  says  are  his  habits. " 

"Nobody  knows  that  better  than  he,  Mrs.  Rivers,  "re 
turned  the  doctor  with  an  equally  marked  precision  of  man 
ner,  "and  you  could  not  have  a  guest  who  would  be  less 
likely  to  make  you  remind  him  of  it." 


188  THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK  HAMLIN 

A  little  annoyed,  yet  not  exactly  knowing  why,  Mrs. 
Rivers  abandoned  the  subject,  and  as  the  doctor  shortly 
afterwards  busied  himself  in  the  care  of  his  patient,  with 
whom  he  remained  until  the  hour  of  his  departure,  she  had 
no  chance  of  renewing  it.  But  as  he  finally  shook  hands 
with  his  host  and  hostess,  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  slightly 
recurred  to  it.  "I  have  the  greatest  hope  of  the  curative 
effect  of  this  wonderful  locality  on  my  patient,  but  even 
still  more  of  the  beneficial  effect  of  the  complete  change  of 
his  habits,  his  surroundings,  and  their  influences."  Then 
the  door  closed  on  the  man  of  science  and  the  grizzled  negro 
servant,  the  noise  of  the  carriage  wheels  was  shut  out  with 
the  song  of  the  wind  in  the  pine  tops,  and  the  rancho  of 
Windy  Hill  possessed  Mr.  Jack  Hamlin  in  peace.  Indeed, 
the  wind  was  now  falling,  as  was  its  custom  at  that  hour, 
and  the  moon  presently  arose  over  a  hushed  and  sleeping 
landscape. 

For  the  rest  of  the  evening  the  silent  presence  in  the 
room  above  affected  the  household ;  the  half-curious  servants 
and  ranch  hands  spoke  in  whispers  in  the  passages,  and  at 
evening  prayers,  in  the  dining  room,  Seth  Rivers,  kneeling 
before  and  bowed  over  a  rush-bottomed  chair  whose  legs 
were  clutched  by  his  strong  hands,  included  "the  stranger 
within  our  gates  "  in  his  regular  supplications.  When  the 
hour  for  retiring  came,  Seth,  with  a  candle  in  his  hand, 
preceded  his  wife  up  the  staircase,  but  stopped  before  the 
door  of  their  guest's  room.  "I  reckon,"  he  said  interroga 
tively  to  Mrs.  Rivers,  "I  oughter  see  ef  he  's  wantin'  any- 
thin'  ? " 

"  You  heard  what  the  doctor  said, "  returned  Mrs.  Rivers 
cautiously.  At  the  same  time  she  did  not  speak  decidedly, 
and  the  frontiersman's  instinct  of  hospitality  prevailed.  He 
knocked  lightly;  there  was  no  response.  He  turned  the 
door  handle  softly.  The  door  opened.  A  faintrclean  per 
fume  —  an  odor  of  some  general  personality  rather  than  any 


THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK   HAMLIN  189 

particular  thing  —  stole  out  upon  them.  The  light  of  Seth's 
candle  struck  a  few  glints  from  some  cut-glass  and  silver, 
the  contents  of  the  guest's  dressing  case,  which  had  been 
carefully  laid  out  upon  a  small  table  by  his  negro  servant. 
There  was  also  a  refined  neatness  in  the  disposition  of  his 
clothes  and  effects  which  struck  the  feminine  eye  of  even 
the  tidy  Mrs.  Bivers  as  something  new  to  her  experience. 
Seth  drew  nearer  the  bed  with  his  shaded  candle,  and  then, 
turning,  beckoned  his  wife  to  approach.  Mrs.  Eivers  hesi 
tated —  but  for  the  necessity  of  silence  she  would  have 
openly  protested  —  but  that  protest  was  shut  up  in  her  com 
pressed  lips  as  she  came  forward. 

For  an  instant  that  awe  with  which  absolute  helplessness 
invests  the  sleeping  and  dead  was  felt  by  both  husband  and 
wife.  Only  the  upper  part  of  the  sleeper's  face  was  visible 
above  the  bedclothes,  held  in  position  by  a  thin  white  ner 
vous  hand  that  was  encircled  at  the  wrist  by  a  ruffle.  Seth 
stared.  Short  brown  curls  were  tumbled  over  a  forehead 
damp  with  the  dews  of  sleep  and  exhaustion.  But  what 
appeared  more  singular,  the  closed  eyes  of  this  vessel  of 
wrath  and  recklessness  were  fringed  with  lashes  as  long 
and  silky  as  a  woman's.  Then  Mrs.  Bivers  gently  pulled 
her  husband's  sleeve,  and  they  both  crept  back  with  a 
greater  sense  of  intrusion  and  even  more  cautiously  than 
they  had  entered.  Nor  did  they  speak  until  the  door  was 
closed  softly  and  they  were  alone  on  the  landing.  Seth 
looked  grimly  at  his  wife. 

"Don't  look  much  ez  ef  he  could  hurt  anybody." 
"He    looks   like    a    sick   man,"   returned   Mrs.    Bivers 
calmly. 

The  unconscious  object  of  this  criticism  and  attention 
slept  until  late;  slept  through  the  stir  of  awakened  life 
within  and  without,  through  the  challenge  of  early  cocks  in 
the  lean-to  shed,  through  the  creaking  of  departing  ox 


190  THE  CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK   HAMLIN 

teams  and  the  lazy,  long-drawn  commands  of  teamsters, 
through  the  regular  strokes  of  the  morning  pump  and  the 
splash  of  water  on  stones,  through  the  far-off  barking  of 
dogs  and  the  half-intelligible  shouts  of  ranchmen;  slept 
through  the  sunlight  on  his  ceiling,  through  its  slow  de 
scent  of  his  wall,  and  awoke  with  it  in  his  eyes !  He  woke, 
too,  with  a  delicious  sense  of  freedom  from  pain,  and  of 
even  drawing  a  long  breath  without  difficulty  —  two  facts 
so  marvelous  and  dreamlike  that  he  naturally  closed  his 
eyes  again  lest  he  should  waken  to  a  world  of  suffering  and 
dyspnoea.  Satisfied  at  last  that  this  relief  was  real,  he  again 
opened  his  eyes,  but  upon  surroundings  so  strange,  so  wildly 
absurd  and  improbable,  that  he  again  doubted  their  reality. 
He  was  lying  in  a  moderately  large  room,  primly  and  se 
verely  furnished,  but  his  attention  was  for  the  moment  riv 
eted  to  a  gilt  frame  upon  the  wall  beside  him  bearing  the 
text,  "God  Bless  Our  Home,"  and  then  on  another  frame 
on  the  opposite  wall  which  admonished  him  to  "Watch 
and  Pray."  Beside  them  hung  an  engraving  of  the  "Rais 
ing  of  Lazarus,"  and  a  Hogarthian  lithograph  of  "The 
Drunkard's  Progress."  Mr.  Hamlin  closed  his  eyes;  he 
was  dreaming  certainly  —  not  one  of  those  wild,  fantastic 
visions  that  had  so  miserably  filled  the  past  long  nights  of 
pain  and  suffering,  but  still  a  dream !  At  last,  opening  one 
eye  stealthily,  he  caught  the  flash  of  the  sunlight  upon  the 
crystal  and  silver  articles  of  his  dressing  case,  and  that  flash 
at  once  illuminated  his  memory.  He  remembered  his  long 
weeks  of  illness  and  the  devotion  of  Dr.  Duchesne.  He 
remembered  how,  when  the  crisis  was  past,  the  doctor  had 
urged  a  complete  change  and  absolute  rest,  and  had  told 
him  of  a  secluded  rancho  in  some  remote  locality  kept  by 
an  honest  Western  pioneer  whose  family  he  had  attended. 
He  remembered  his  own  reluctant  assent,  impelled  by  grati 
tude  to  the  doctor  and  the  helplessness  of  a  sick  ftan.  He 
now  recalled  the  weary  journey  thither,  his  exhaustion  and 


THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK   HAMLIN  191 

the  semi-consciousness  of  his  arrival  in  a  bewildering  wind 
on  a  shadowy  hilltop.  And  this  was  the  place ! 

He  shivered  slightly,  and  ducked  his  head  under  the 
cover  again.  But  the  brightness  of  the  sun  and  some  exhil 
arating  quality  in  the  air  tempted  him  to  have  another  out 
look,  avoiding  as  far  as  possible  the  grimly  decorated  walls. 
If  they  had  only  left  him  his  faithful  servant  he  could  have 
relieved  himself  of  that  mischievous  badinage  which  always 
alternately  horrified  and  delighted  that  devoted  negro.  But 
he  was  alone  —  absolutely  alone  —  in  this  conventicle ! 

Presently  he  saw  the  door  open  slowly.  It  gave  admis 
sion  to  the  small  round  face  and  yellow  ringlets  of  a  little 
girl,  and  finally  to  her  whole  figure,  clasping  a  doll  nearly 
as  large  as  herself.  For  a  moment  she  stood  there,  arrested 
by  the  display  of  Mr.  Hamlin's  dressing  case  on  the  table. 
Then  her  glances  moved  around  the  room  and  rested  upon 
the  bed.  Her  blue  eyes  and  Mr.  Hamlin's  brown  ones  met 
and  mingled.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation  she  moved 
to  the  bedside.  Taking  her  doll's  hands  in  her  own,  she 
displayed  it  before  him. 

"Isn't  it  pitty?" 

Mr.  Hamlin  was  instantly  his  old  self  again.  Thrusting 
his  hand  comfortably  under  the  pillow,  he  lay  on  his  side 
and  gazed  at  it  long  and  affectionately.  "I  never,"  he  said 
in  a  faint  voice,  but  with  immovable  features,  "saw  any 
thing  so  perfectly  beautiful.  Is  it  alive  ?  " 

"It's  a  dolly,"  she  returned  gravely,  smoothing  down 
its  frock  and  straightening  its  helpless  feet.  Then  seized 
with  a  spontaneous  idea,  like  a  young  animal  she  suddenly 
presented  it  to  him  with  both  hands  and  said,  — 

"Kiss  it." 

Mr.  Hamlin  implanted  a  chaste  salute  on  its  vermilion 
cheek.  "Would  you  mind  letting  me  hold  it  for  a  little?  " 
he  said  with  extreme  diffidence. 

The  child  was  delighted,  as  he  expected.      Mr.  Hamlin 


192     -      THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK   HAMLIN 

placed  it  in  a  sitting  posture  on  the  edge  of  his  bed,  and  put 
an  ostentatious  paternal  arm  around  it. 

"But  you  're  alive,  ain't  you? "  he  said  to  the  child. 

This  subtle  witticism  convulsed  her.  "I  'm  a  little  girl," 
she  gurgled. 

"I  see;  her  mother?  " 

"Ess." 

"And  who  's  your  mother?  " 

"Mammy." 

"Mrs.  Eivers?" 

The  child  nodded  until  her  ringlets  were  shaken  on  her 
cheek.  After  a  moment  she  began  to  laugh  bashfully  and 
with  repression,  yet  as  Mr.  Hamlin  thought  a  little  mis 
chievously.  Then  as  he  looked  at  her  interrogatively  she 
suddenly  caught  hold  of  the  ruffle  of  his  sleeve. 

"Oo  's  got  on  mammy's  nighty." 

Mr.  Hamlin  started.  He  saw  the  child's  obvious  mistake 
and  actually  felt  himself  blushing.  It  was  unprecedented 

—  it  was  the  sheerest  weakness  —  it  must  have  something 
to  do  with  the  confounded  air. 

"I  grieve  to  say  you  are  deeply  mistaken  —  it  is  my 
very  own,"  he  returned  with  great  gravity.  Nevertheless, 
he  drew  the  coverlet  close  over  his  shoulder.  But  here  he 
was  again  attracted  by  another  face  at  the  half-opened  door 

—  a  freckled  one,  belonging  to  a  boy  apparently  a  year  or 
two  older  than  the  girl.      He  was  violently  telegraphing  to 
her  to  come  away,  although  it  was  evident  that  he  was  at 
the  same  time  deeply  interested  in  the  guest's  toilet  articles. 
Yet  as  his  bright  gray  eyes  and  Mr.  Hamlin 's  brown  ones 
met,  he  succumbed,  as  the  girl  had,  and  walked  directly  to 
the  bedside.     But  he  did  it  bashfully  —  as  the  girl  had  not. 
He  even  attempted  a  defensive  explanation. 

"She  hadn't  oughter  come  in  here,  and  mar  wouldn't 
let  her,  and  she  knows  it,"  he  said  with  superior  virtue. 
"But  I  asked  her  to  come  as  I  'm  asking  you,"  said  Mr. 


THE  CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK  HAMLIN  193 

Hamlin  promptly,  "and  don't  you  go  back  on  your  sister 
or  you  '11  never  be  president  of  the  United  States."  With 
this  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  boy's  tow  head,  and  then,  lift 
ing  himself  on  his  pillow  to  a  half-sitting  posture,  put  an 
arm  around  each  of  the  children,  drawing  them  together, 
with  the  doll  occupying  the  central  post  of  honor.  "Now," 
continued  Mr.  Hamlin,  albeit  in  a  voice  a  little  faint  from 
the  exertion,  "now  that  we're  comfortable  together  I'll 
tell  you  the  story  of  the  good  little  boy  who  became  a  pirate 
in  order  to  save  his  grandmother  and  little  sister  from  being 
eaten  by  a  wolf  at  the  door." 

But,  alas !  that  interesting  record  of  self-sacrifice  never 
was  told.  For  it  chanced  that  Melinda  Bird,  Mrs.  Rivers 's 
help,  following  the  trail  of  the  missing  children,  came  upon 
the  open  door  and  glanced  in.  There,  to  her  astonishment, 
she  saw  the  domestic  group  already  described,  and  to  her 
eyes  dominated  by  the  "most  beautiful  and  perfectly  ele 
gant  "  young  man  she  had  ever  seen.  But  let  not  the  in 
cautious  reader  suppose  that  she  succumbed  as  weakly  as 
her  artless  charges  to  these  fascinations.  The  character  and 
antecedents  of  that  young  man  had  been  already  delivered 
to  her  in  the  kitchen  by  the  other  help.  With  that  single 
glance  she  halted;  her  eyes  sought  the  ceiling  in  chaste 
exaltation.  Falling  back  a  step,  she  called  in  ladylike  hau 
teur  and  precision,  "Mary  Emmeline  and  John  Wesley." 

Mr.  Hamlin  glanced  at  the  children.  "It's  Melindy 
looking  for  us,"  said  John  Wesley.  But  they  did  not 
move.  At  which  Mr.  Hamlin  called  out  faintly  but  cheer 
fully,  "They  're  here,  all  right." 

Again  the  voice  arose  with  still  more  marked  and  lofty 
distinctness,  "John  Wesley  and  Mary  Em-me-line."  It 
seemed  to  Mr.  Hamlin  that  human  accents  could  not  con 
vey  a  more  significant  and  elevated  ignoring  of  some  implied 
impropriety  in  his  invitation.  He  was  for  a  moment 
crushed. 


194  THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK   HAMLIN 

But  he  only  said  to  his  little  friends  with  a  smile, 
"You  'd  better  go  now  and  we  '11  have  that  story  later." 

"Affer  beckus?"  suggested  Mary  Emmeline. 

"In  the  woods,"  added  John  Wesley. 

Mr.  Hamlin  nodded  blandly.  The  children  trotted  to 
the  door.  It  closed  upon  them  and  Miss  Bird's  parting 
admonition,  loud  enough  for  Mr.  Hamlin  to  hear,  "No 
more  freedoms,  no  more  intrudings,  you  hear." 

The  older  culprit,  Hamlin,  retreated  luxuriously  under 
his  blankets,  but  presently  another  new  sensation  came  over 
him  —  absolutely,  hunger.  Perhaps  it  was  the  child's  allu 
sion  to  "beckus,"  but  he  found  himself  wondering  when  it 
would  be  ready.  This  anxiety  was  soon  relieved  by  the 
appearance  of  his  host  himself  bearing  a  tray,  possibly  in 
deference  to  Miss  Bird's  sense  of  propriety.  It  appeared 
also  that  Dr.  Duchesne  had  previously  given  suitable  direc 
tions  for  his  diet,  and  Mr.  Hamlin  found  his  repast  simple 
but  enjoyable.  Always  playfully  or  ironically  polite  to 
strangers,  he  thanked  his  host  and  said  he  had  slept  splen 
didly. 

"It 's  this  yer  '  ozone  '  in  the  air  that  Dr.  Duchesne  talks 
about,"  said  Seth  complacently. 

"I  am  inclined  to  think  it  is  also  those  texts,"  said  Mr. 
Hamlin  gravely,  as  he  indicated  them  on  the  wall.  "You 
see  they  reminded  me  of  church  and  my  boyhood's  slumbers 
there.  I  have  never  slept  so  peacefully  since."  Seth's  face 
brightened  so  interestedly  at  what  he  believed  to  be  a  sug 
gestion  of  his  guest's  conversion  that  Mr.  Hamlin  was  fain 
to  change  the  subject.  When  his  host  had  withdrawn  he 
proceeded  to  dress  himself,  but  here  became  conscious  of  his 
weakness  and  was  obliged  to  sit  down.  In  one  of  those  en 
forced  rests  he  chanced  to  be  near  the  window,  and  for  the 
first  time  looked  on  the  environs  of  his  place  of  exile.  For 
a  moment  he  was  staggered.  Everything  seemed  to  pitch 
downward  from  the  rocky  outcrop  on  which  the  rambling 


THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK  HAMLIN  195 

house  and  farm  sheds  stood.  Even  the  great  pines  around 
it  swept  downward  like  a  green  wave,  to  rise  again  in  enor 
mous  billows  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  He  could  count 
a  dozen  of  their  tumbled  crests  following  each  other  on  their 
way  to  the  distant  plain.  In  some  vague  point  of  that 
shimmering  horizon  of  heat  and  dust  was  the  spot  he  came 
from  the  preceding  night.  Yet  the  recollection  of  it  and 
his  feverish  past  seemed  to  confuse  him,  and  he  turned  his 
eyes  gladly  away. 

Pale,  a  little  tremulous,  but  immaculate  and  jaunty  in 
his  white  flannels  and  straw  hat,  he  at  last  made  his  way 
downstairs.  To  his  great  relief  he  found  the  sitting  room 
empty,  as  he  would  have  willingly  deferred  his  formal  ac 
knowledgments  to  his  hostess  later.  A  single  glance  at  the 
interior  determined  him  not  to  linger,  and  he  slipped  quietly 
into  the  open  air  and  sunshine.  The  day  was  warm  and 
still,  as  the  wind  only  came  up  with  the  going  down  of  the 
sun,  and  the  atmosphere  was  still  redolent  with  the  morning 
spicing  of  pine  and  hay  and  a  stronger  balm  that  seemed  to 
fill  his  breast  with  sunshine.  He  walked  toward  the  near 
est  shade  —  a  cluster  of  young  buckeyes  —  and  having  with 
a  certain  civic  fastidiousness  flicked  the  dust  from  a  stump 
with  his  handkerchief  he  sat  down.  It  was  very  quiet  and 
calm.  The  life  and  animation  of  early  morning  had  already 
vanished  from  the  hill,  or  seemed  to  be  suspended  with  the 
sun  in  the  sky.  He  could  see  the  ranchmen  and  oxen  toiling 
on  the  green  terraced  slopes  below,  but  no  sound  reached  his 
ears.  Even  the  house  he  had  just  quitted  seemed  empty  of 
life  throughout  its  rambling  length.  His  seclusion  was  com 
plete.  Could  he  stand  it  for  three  weeks?  Perhaps  it  need 
not  be  for  so  long;  he  was  already  stronger!  He  foresaw 
that  the  ascetic  Seth  might  become  wearisome.  He  had  an 
intuition  that  Mrs.  Rivers  would  be  equally  so;  he  should 
certainly  quarrel  with  Melinda,  and  this  would  probably  de 
bar  him  from  the  company  of  the  children  —  his  only  hope. 


196  THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK  HAMLIN 

But  his  seclusion  was  by  no  means  so  complete  as  he  ex 
pected.  He  presently  was  aware  of  a  camp-meeting  hymn 
hummed  somewhat  ostentatiously  by  a  deep  contralto  voice, 
which  he  at  once  recognized  as  Melinda's,  and  saw  that 
severe  virgin  proceeding  from  the  kitchen  along  the  ridge 
until  within  a  few  paces  of  the  buckeyes,  when  she  stopped 
and,  with  her  hand  shading  her  eyes,  apparently  began  to 
examine  the  distant  fields.  She  was  a  tall,  robust  girl,  not 
without  certain  rustic  attractions,  of  which  she  seemed  fully 
conscious.  This  latter  weakness  gave  Mr.  Hamlin  a  new 
idea.  He  put  up  the  penknife  with  which  he  had  been 
paring  his  nails  while  wondering  why  his  hands  had  become 
so  thin,  and  awaited  events.  She  presently  turned,  ap 
proached  the  buckeyes,  plucked  a  spike  of  the  blossoms 
with  great  girlish  lightness,  and  then  apparently  discovering 
Mr.  Hamlin,  started  in  deep  concern  and  said  with  some 
what  stentorian  politeness:  "I  beg  your  pardon  —  didn't 
know  I  was  intruding !  " 

"Don't  mention  it,"  returned  Jack  promptly,  but  with 
out  moving.  "I  saw  you  coming  and  was  prepared;  but 
generally  —  as  I  have  something  the  matter  with  my  heart 
—  a  sudden  joy  like  this  is  dangerous." 

Somewhat  mystified,  but  struggling  between  an  expression 
of  rigorous  decorum  and  gratified  vanity,  Miss  Melinda 
stammered,  "I  was  only  "  — 

"I  knew  it  —  I  saw  what  you  were  doing,"  interrupted 
Jack  gravely,  "only  I  wouldn't  do  it  if  I  were  you.  You 
were  looking  at  one  of  those  young  men  down  the  hill. 
You  forgot  that  if  you  could  see  him  he  could  see  you  look 
ing  too,  and  that  would  only  make  him  conceited.  And  a 
girl  with  your  attractions  don't  require  that." 

"Ez  if,"  said  Melinda,  with  lofty  but  somewhat  redden 
ing  scorn,  "there  was  a  man  on  this  hull  rancho  that  I'd 
take  a  second  look  at."  • 

"It's  the  first  look  that  does  the  business,"  returned 


THE  CONVALESCENCE  OF  JACK   HAMLIN  197 

Jack  simply.  "But  maybe  I  was  wrong.  Would  you 
mind  —  as  you  're  going  straight  back  to  the  house  "  (Miss 
Melinda  had  certainly  expressed  no  such  intention)  — 
"turning  those  two  little  kids  loose  out  here1?  I  've  a  sort 
of  engagement  with  them." 

"I  will  speak  to  their  mar,"  said  Melinda  primly,  yet 
with  a  certain  sign  of  relenting,  as  she  turned  away. 

"  You  can  say  to  her  that  I  regretted  not  finding  her  in 
the  sitting  room  when  I  came  down,"  continued  Jack  tact 
fully. 

Apparently  the  tact  was  successful,  for  he  was  delighted 
a  few  moments  later  by  the  joyous  onset  of  John  Wesley 
and  Mary  Emmeline  upon  the  buckeyes,  which  he  at  once 
converted  into  a  game  of  hide  and  seek,  permitting  himself 
at  last  to  be  shamelessly  caught  in  the  open.  But  here  he 
wisely  resolved  upon  guarding  against  further  grown-up  in 
terruption,  and  consulting  with  his  companions  found  that 
on  one  of  the  lower  terraces  there  was  a  large  reservoir  fed 
by  a  mountain  rivulet,  but  they  were  not  allowed  to  play 
there.  Thither,  however,  the  reckless  Jack  hied  with  his 
playmates  and  was  presently  ensconced  under  a  willow  tree, 
where  he  dexterously  fashioned  tiny  willow  canoes  with  his 
penknife  and  sent  them  sailing  over  a  submerged  expanse  of 
nearly  an  acre.  But  half  an  hour  of  this  ingenious  amuse 
ment  was  brought  to  an  abrupt  termination.  While  cutting 
bark,  with  his  back  momentarily  turned  on  his  companions, 
he  heard  a  scream,  and  turned  quickly  to  see  John  Wesley 
struggling  in  the  water,  grasping  a  tree  root,  and  Mary  Em 
meline  —  nowhere !  In  another  minute  he  saw  the  strings 
of  her  pinafore  appear  on  the  surface  a  few  yards  beyond, 
and  in  yet  another  minute,  with  a  swift  rueful  glance  at  his 
white  flannels,  he  had  plunged  after  her.  A  disagreeable 
shock  of  finding  himself  out  of  his  depths  was,  however, 
followed  by  contact  with  the  child's  clothing,  and  clutching 
her  firmly,  a  stroke  or  two  brought  him  panting  to  the  bank. 


198  THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF   JACK   HAMLIN 

Here  a  gasp,  a  gurgle,  and  then  a  roar  from  Mary  Emme- 
line,  followed  by  a  sympathetic  howl  from  John  Wesley, 
satisfied  him  that  the  danger  was  over.  Rescuing  the  boy 
from  the  tree  root,  he  laid  them  both  on  the  grass  and  con 
templated  them  exercising  their  lungs  with  miserable  satis 
faction.  But  here  he  found  his  own  breathing  impeded  in 
addition  to  a  slight  faintness,  and  was  suddenly  obliged  to 
sit  down  beside  them,  at  which,  by  some  sympathetic  intui 
tion,  they  both  stopped  crying. 

Encouraged  by  this,  Mr.  Hamlin  got  them  to  laughing 
again,  and  then  proposed  a  race  home  in  their  wet  clothes, 
which  they  accepted,  Mr.  Hamlin,  for  respiratory  reasons, 
lagging  in  their  rear  until  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
them  captured  by  the  horrified  Melinda  in  front  of  the 
kitchen,  while  he  slipped  past  her  and  regained  his  own 
room.  Here  he  changed  his  saturated  clothes,  tried  to  rub 
away  a  certain  chilliness  that  was  creeping  over  him,  and 
lay  down  in  his  dressing  gown  to  miserable  reflections.  He 
had  nearly  drowned  the  children  and  overexcited  himself, 
in  spite  of  his  promise  to  the  doctor!  He  would  never 
again  be  intrusted  with  the  care  of  the  former  nor  be 
believed  by  the  latter! 

But  events  are  not  always  logical  in  sequence.  Mr. 
Hamlin  went  comfortably  to  sleep  and  into  a  profuse  per 
spiration.  He  was  awakened  by  a  rapping  at  his  door,  and 
opening  it,  was  surprised  to  find  Mrs.  Rivers  with  anxious 
inquiries  as  to  his  condition.  "Indeed,"  she  said,  with  an 
emotion  which  even  her  prim  reserve  could  not  conceal,  "I 
did  not  know  until  now  how  serious  the  accident  was,  and 
how  but  for  you  and  Divine  Providence  my  little  girl 
might  have  been  drowned.  It  seems  Melinda  saw  it  all." 

Inwardly  objurgating  the  spying  Melinda,  but  relieved 
that  his  playmates  hadn't  broken  their  promise  of  secrecy, 
Mr.  Hamlin  laughed. 

"I  'm  afraid  that  your  little  girl  wouldn't  have  got  into 


THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF   JACK   HAMLIN  199 

the  water  at  all  but  for  me  —  and  you  must  give  all  the 
credit  of  getting  her  out  to  the  other  fellow."  He  stopped 
at  the  severe  change  in  Mrs.  Bivers's  expression,  and  added 
quite  boyishly  and  with  a  sudden  drop  from  his  usual  lev 
ity,  "But  please  don't  keep  the  children  away  from  me  for 
all  that,  Mrs.  Kivers." 

Mrs.  Rivers  did  not,  and  the  next  day  Jack  and  his  com 
panions  sought  fresh  playing  fields  and  some  new  story-tell 
ing  pastures.  Indeed,  it  was  a  fine  sight  to  see  this  pale, 
handsome,  elegantly  dressed  young  fellow  lounging  along 
between  a  blue-checkered  pinafored  girl  on  one  side  and  a 
barefooted  boy  on  the  other.  The  ranchmen  turned  and 
looked  after  him  curiously.  One,  a  rustic  prodigal,  reduced 
by  dissipation  to  the  swine-husks  of  ranching,  saw  fit  to 
accost  him  familiarly. 

"The  last  time  I  saw  you  dealing  poker  in  Sacramento, 
Mr.  Hamlin,  I  did  not  reckon  to  find  you  up  here  playing 
with  a  couple  of  kids." 

"No!"  responded  Mr.  Hamlin  suavely,  "and  yet  I  re 
member  I  was  playing  with  some  country  idiots  down  there, 
and  you  were  one  of  them.  Well !  understand  that  up  here 
I  prefer  the  kids.  Don't  let  me  have  to  remind  you  of  it." 

Nevertheless,  Mr.  Hamlin  could  not  help  noticing  that 
for  the  next  two  or  three  days  there  were  many  callers  at 
the  ranch  and  that  he  was  obliged  in  his  walks  to  avoid  the 
highroad  on  account  of  the  impertinent  curiosity  of  way 
farers.  Some  of  them  were  of  that  sex  which  he  would 
not  have  contented  himself  with  simply  calling  "  curious. " 

"To  think,"  said  Melinda  confidently  to  her  mistress, 
"that  that  thar  Mrs.  Stubbs,  who  would  n't  go  to  the  High- 
town  Hotel  because  there  was  a  play  actress  thar,  has  been 
snoopin'  round  here  twice  since  that  young  feller  came." 

Of  this  fact,  however,  Mr.  Hamlin  was  blissfully  uncon 
scious. 

Nevertheless,   his    temper  was   growing  uncertain;    the 


200  THE  CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK  HAMLIN 

angle  of  his  smart  straw  hat  was  becoming  aggressive  to 
strangers ;  his  politeness  sardonic.  And  now  Sunday  morn 
ing  had  come  with  an  atmosphere  of  starched  piety  and 
well-soaped  respectability  at  the  rancho,  and  the  children 
were  to  be  taken  with  the  rest  of  the  family  to  the  day-long 
service  at  Hightown.  As  these  Sabbath  pilgrimages  filled 
the  main  road,  he  was  fain  to  take  himself  and  his  loneliness 
to  the  trails  and  byways,  and  even  to  invade  the  haunts  of 
some  other  elegant  outcasts  like  himself  —  to  wit,  a  crested 
hawk,  a  graceful  wild  cat  beautifully  marked,  and  an  elo 
quently  reticent  rattlesnake.  Mr.  Hamlin  eyed  them  with 
out  fear,  and  certainly  without  reproach.  They  were  not 
out  of  their  element. 

Suddenly  he  heard  his  name  called  in  a  stentorian  con 
tralto.  An  impatient  ejaculation  rose  to  his  lips,  but  died 
upon  them  as  he  turned.  It  was  certainly  Melinda,  but  in 
his  present  sensitive  loneliness  it  struck  him  for  the  first 
time  that  he  had  never  actually  seen  her  before  as  she  really 
was.  Like  most  men  in  his  profession  he  was  a  quick 
reader  of  thoughts  and  faces  when  he  was  interested,  and 
although  this  was  the  same  robust,  long-limbed,  sunburnt 
girl  he  had  met,  he  now  seemed  to  see  through  her  triple 
incrustation  of  human  vanity,  conventional  piety,  and  out 
rageous  Sabbath  finery  an  honest,  sympathetic  simplicity 
that  commanded  his  respect. 

"You  are  back  early  from  church,"  he  said. 

"Yes.  One  service  is  good  enough  for  me  when  thar 
ain't  no  special  preacher,"  she  returned,  "so  I  jest  sez  to 
Silas,  '  as  I  ain't  here  to  listen  to  the  sisters  cackle  ye  kin 
put  to  the  buckboard  and  drive  me  home  ez  soon  ez  you 
please.'  " 

"And  so  his  name  is  Silas,"  suggested  Mr.  Hamlin  cheer 
fully. 

"Go  'long  with  you,  Mr.  Hamlin,  and  don't  poster,"  she 
returned,  with  heifer-like  playfulness.  "  Well,  Silas  put  to, 


THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK   HAMLIN  201 

and  when  we  rose  the  hill  here  I  saw  your  straw  hat  passin' 
in  the  gulch,  and  sez  to  Silas,  sez  I,  '  Ye  kin  pull  up  here, 
for  over  yar  is  our  new  boarder,  Jack  Hamlin,  and  I  'm 
goin'  to  talk  with  him. '  '  All  right, '  sez  he,  '  I  'd  sooner 
trust  ye  with  that  gay  young  gambolier  every  day  of  the 
week  than  with  them  saints  down  thar  on  Sunday.  He 
deals  ez  straight  ez  he  shoots,  and  is  about  as  nigh  onto  a 
gentleman  as  they  make  'em.'  " 

For  one  moment  or  two  Miss  Bird  only  saw  Jack's  long 
lashes.  When  his  eyes  once  more  lifted  they  were  shining. 
"And  what  did  you  say? "  he  said,  with  a  short  laugh. 

"I  told  him  he  need  n't  be  Christopher  Columbus  to  have 
discovered  that."  She  turned  with  a  laugh  toward  Jack, 
to  be  met  by  the  word  "shake,"  and  an  outstretched  thin 
white  hand  which  grasped  her  large  red  one  with  a  frank, 
fraternal  pressure. 

"I  didn't  come  to  tell  ye  that,"  remarked  Miss  Bird  as 
she  sat  down  on  a  boulder,  took  off  her  yellow  hat,  and  re- 
stacked  her  tawny  mane  under  it,  "but  this:  I  reckoned  I 
went  to  Sunday  meetin'  as  I  ought  ter.  I  kalkilated  to 
hear  considerable  about  '  Faith  '  and  '  Works, '  and  sich, 
but  I  didn't  reckon  to  hear  all  about  you  from  the  Lord's 
Prayer  to  the  Doxology.  You  were  in  the  special  prayers 
ez  a  warnin',  in  the  sermon  ez  a  text;  they  picked  out 
hymns  to  fit  ye !  And  always  a  drefful  example  and  a  visi 
tation.  And  the  rest  o'  the  time  it  was  all  gabble,  gabble 
by  the  brothers  and  sisters  about  you.  I  reckon,  Mr.  Ham 
lin,  that  they  know  everything  you  ever  did  since  you  were 
knee-high  to  a  grasshopper,  and  a  good  deal  more  than  you 
ever  thought  of  doin'.  The  women  is  all  dead  set  on  con- 
vertin'  ye  and  savin'  ye  by  their  own  precious  selves,  and 
the  men  is  ekally  dead  set  on  gettin'  rid  o'  ye  on  that 
account. " 

"  And  what  did  Seth  and  Mrs.  Rivers  say  ? "  asked 
Hamlin  composedly,  but  with  kindling  eyes. 


202  THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF   JACK   HAMLIN 

"  They  stuck  up  for  ye  ez  far  ez  they  could.  But  ye  see 
the  parson  hez  got  a  holt  upon  Seth,  havin'  caught  him 
kissin'  a  convert  at  camp  meeting  ;  and  Deacon  Turner  knows 
suthin  about  Mrs.  Rivers's  sister,  who  kicked  over  the  pail 
and  jumped  the  fence  years  ago,  and  she  's  afeard  o'  him. 
But  what  I  wanted  to  tell  ye  was  that  they  're  all  comin' 
up  here  to  take  a  look  at  ye  —  some  on  'em  to-night.  You 
ain't  afeard,  are  ye  ?  "  she  added,  with  a  loud  laugh. 

"  Well,  it  looks  rather  desperate,  does  n't  it  ?  "  returned 
Jack,  with  dancing  eyes. 

"  I  '11  trust  ye  for  all  that,"  said  Melinda.  "  And  now 
I  reckon  I  '11  trot  along  to  the  rancho.  Ye  need  n't  offer 
ter  see  me  home,"  she  added,  as  Jack  made  a  movement  to 
accompany  her.  "  Everybody  up  here  ain't  as  fair-minded 
ez  Silas  and  you,  and  Melinda  Bird  hez  a  character  to  lose  ! 
So  long !  "  With  this  she  cantered  away,  a  little  heavily, 
perhaps,  adjusting  her  yellow  hat  with  both  hands  as  she 
clattered  down  the  steep  hill. 

That  afternoon  Mr.  Hamlin  drew  largely  on  his  convales 
cence  to  mount  a  half-broken  mustang,  and  in  spite  of  the 
rising  afternoon  wind  to  gallop  along  the  highroad  in  quite 
as  mischievous  and  breezy  a  fashion.  He  was  wont  to  allow 
his  mustang's  nose  to  hang  over  the  hind  rails  of  wagons 
and  buggies  containing  young  couples,  and  to  dash  ahead  of 
sober  carryalls  that  held  elderly  "members  in  good  standing." 

An  accomplished  rider,  he  picked  up  and  brought  back 
the  flying  parasol  of  Mrs.  Deacon  Stubbs  without  dismount 
ing.  He  finally  came  home  a  little  blown,  but  dangerously 
composed. 

There  was  the  usual  Sunday  evening  gathering  at  Windy 
Hill  Eancho  —  neighbors  and  their  wives,  deacons  and  the 
pastor  —  but  their  curiosity  was  not  satisfied  by  the  sight 
of  Mr.  Hamlin,  who  kept  his  own  room  and  his  own  coun 
sel.  There  was  some  desultory  conversation,  "chiefly  on 
church  topics,  for  it  was  vaguely  felt  that  a  discussion  of 


THE  CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK   HAMLIN  203 

the  advisability  of  getting  rid  of  the  guest  of  their  host 
was  somewhat  difficult  under  this  host's  roof,  with  the  guest 
impending  at  any  moment.  Then  a  diversion  was  created 
by  some  of  the  church  choir  practicing  the  harmonium  with 
the  singing  of  certain  more  or  less  lugubrious  anthems. 
Mrs.  Rivers  presently  joined  in,  and  in  a  somewhat  faded 
soprano,  which,  however,  still  retained  considerable  musical 
taste  and  expression,  sang,  "  Come,  ye  Disconsolate."  The 
wind  moaned  over  the  deep-throated  chimney  in  a  weird 
harmony  with  the  melancholy  of  that  human  appeal  as  Mrs. 
Rivers  sang  the  first  verse :  — 

"  Come,  ye  disconsolate,  where'er  ye  languish, 

Come  to  the  Mercy  Seat,  fervently  kneel; 
Here  bring  your  wounded  hearts  —  here  tell  your  anguish, 
Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  Heaven  cannot  heal !  " 

A  pause  followed,  and  the  long-drawn,  half-human  sigh 
of  the  mountain  wind  over  the  chimney  seemed  to  mingle 
with  the  wail  of  the  harmonium.  And  then,  to  their 
thrilled  astonishment,  a  tenor  voice,  high,  clear,  but  ten 
derly  passionate,  broke  like  a  skylark  over  their  heads  in 
the  lines  of  the  second  verse  :  — 

"  Joy  of  the  desolate,  Light  of  the  straying, 

Hope  of  the  penitent  —  fadeless  and  pure; 
Here  speaks  the  Comforter,  tenderly  saying, 
Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  Heaven  cannot  cure! " 

The  hymn  was  old  and  familiar  enough,  Heaven  knows. 
It  had  been  quite  popular  at  funerals,  and  some  who  sat 
there  had  had  its  strange  melancholy  borne  upon  them  in 
time  of  loss  and  tribulations,  but  never  had  they  felt  its 
full  power  before.  Accustomed  as  they  were  to  emotional 
appeal  and  to  respond  to  it,  as  the  singer's  voice  died  away 
above  them,  their  very  tears  flowed  and  fell  with  that  voice. 
A  few  sobbed  aloud,  and  then  a  voice  asked  tremulously,  — 

"  Who  is  it  ?  " 

"  It 's  Mr.  Hamlin,"  said  Seth  quietly.  "  I  've  heard 
him  often  hummin'  things  before." 


204  THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK   HAMLIN 

There  was  another  silence,  and  the  voice  of  Deacon 
Stubbs  broke  in  harshly,  — 

"  It  's  rank  blasphemy." 

"  If  it 's  rank  blasphemy  to  sing  the  praise  o'  God,  not 
only  better  than  some  folks  in  the  choir,  but  like  an  angel 
o'  light,  I  wish  you  'd  do  a  little  o'  that  blaspheming  on 
Sundays,  Mr.  Stubbs." 

The  speaker  was  Mrs.  Stubbs,  and  as  Deacon  Stubbs  was 
a  notoriously  bad  singer  the  shot  told. 

"  If  he  's  sincere,  why  does  he  stand  aloof?  Why  does 
he  not  join  us  ?  "  asked  the  parson. 

"  He  has  n't  been  asked/'  said  Seth  quietly.  "  If  I 
ain't  mistaken  this  yer  gathering  this  evening  was  specially 
to  see  how  to  get  rid  of  him." 

There  was  a  quick  murmur  of  protest  at  this.  The  par 
son  exchanged  glances  with  the  deacon  and  saw  that  they 
were  hopelessly  in  the  minority. 

"  I  will  ask  him  myself,"  said  Mrs.  Rivers  suddenly. 

"  So  do,  Sister  Rivers ;  so  do,"  was  the  unmistakable 
response. 

Mrs.  Rivers  left  the  room  and  returned  in  a  few  moments 
with  a  handsome  young  man,  pale,  elegant,  composed,  even 
to  a  grave  indifference.  What  his  eyes  might  have  said 
was  another  thing ;  the  long  lashes  were  scarcely  raised. 

"  I  don't  mind  playing  a  little,"  he  said  quietly  to  Mrs. 
Rivers,  as  if  continuing  a  conversation,  "  but  you  ?11  have 
to  let  me  trust  my  memory." 

"  Then  you  —  er  —  play  the  harmonium  ?  "  said  the  par 
son,  with  an  attempt  at  formal  courtesy. 

"  I  was  for  a  year  or  two  the  organist  in  the  choir  of 
Dr.  Todd's  church  at  Sacramento,"  returned  Mr.  Hamlin 
quietly. 

The  blank  amazement  on  the  faces  of  Deacons  Stubbs 
and  Turner  and  the  parson  was  followed  by  wreathed  smiles 
from  the  other  auditors  and  especially  from  the  ladies.  Mr. 


THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK  HAMLIN  205 

Hamlin  sat  down  to  the  instrument,  and  in  another  mo 
ment  took  possession  of  it  as  it  had  never  been  held  before. 
He  played  from  memory  as  he  had  implied,  but  it  was  the 
memory  of  a  musician.  He  began  with  one  or  two  familiar 
anthems,  in  which  they  all  joined.  A  fragment  of  a  mass 
and  a  Latin  chant  followed.  An  "  Ave  Maria  "  from  an 
opera  was  his  first  secular  departure,  but  his  delighted  au 
dience  did  not  detect  it.  Then  he  hurried  them  along  in 
unfamiliar  language  to  "  0  mio  Fernando  "  and  "  Spiritu 
gentil,"  which  they  fondly  imagined  were  hymns,  until, 
with  crowning  audacity,  after  a  few  preliminary  chords  of 
the  "  Miserere,'7  he  landed  them  broken-hearted  in  the  Tro- 
vatore's  donjon  tower  with  "Non  te  scordar  de  mi." 

Amidst  the  applause  he  heard  the  preacher  suavely  ex 
plain  that  those  Popish  masses  were  always  in  the  Latin 
language,  and  rose  from  the  instrument  satisfied  with  his 
experiment.  Excusing  himself  as  an  invalid  from  joining 
them  in  a  light  collation  in  the  dining  room,  and  begging 
his  hostess's  permission  to  retire,  he  nevertheless  lingered 
a  few  moments  by  the  door  as  the  ladies  filed  out  of  the 
room,  followed  by  the  gentlemen,  until  Deacon  Turner,  who 
was  bringing  up  the  rear,  was  abreast  of  him.  Here  Mr. 
Hamlin  became  suddenly  deeply  interested  in  a  framed  pen 
cil  drawing  which  hung  on  the  wall.  It  was  evidently  a 
schoolgirl's  amateur  portrait,  done  by  Mrs.  Bivers.  Deacon 
Turner  halted  quickly  by  his  side  as  the  others  passed  out 

—  which  was  exactly  what  Mr.  Hamlin  expected. 

"  Do  you  know  the  face  ?  "  said  the  deacon  eagerly. 

Thanks  to  the  faithful  Melinda,  Mr.  Hamlin  did  know  it 
perfectly.  It  was  a  pencil  sketch  of  Mrs.  Rivers' s  youth 
fully  erring  sister.  But  he  only  said  he  thought  he  recog 
nized  a  likeness  to  some  one  he  had  seen  in  Sacramento. 

The  deacon's  eye  brightened.  "  Perhaps  the  same  one  — 
perhaps,"  he  added  in  a  submissive  and  significant  tone  "  a 

—  er  —  painful  story." 


206  THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF   JACK   HAMLIN 

"  Bather  —  to  him,"  observed  Hamlin  quietly. 

"  How  ?  —  I  —  er  —  don't  understand,"  said  Deacon 
Turner. 

"  Well,  the  portrait  looks  like  a  lady  I  knew  in  Sacra 
mento  who  had  been  in  some  trouble  when  she  was  a  silly 
girl,  but  had  got  over  it  quietly.  She  was,  however,  troubled 
a  good  deal  by  some  mean  hound  who  was  every  now  and 
then  raking  up  the  story  wherever  she  went.  Well,  one  of 
her  friends  —  I  might  have  been  among  them,  I  don't  ex 
actly  remember  just  now  —  challenged  him,  but  although 
he  had  no  conscientious  convictions  about  slandering  a 
woman,  he  had  some  about  being  shot  for  it,  and  declined. 
The  consequence  was  he  was  cowhided  once  in  the  street, 
and  the  second  time  tarred  and  feathered  and  ridden  on  a 
rail  out  of  town.  That,  I  suppose,  was  what  you  meant 
by  your  '  painful  story.'  But  is  this  the  woman  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  deacon  hurriedly,  with  a  white  face, 
"  you  have  quite  misunderstood." 

"  But  whose  is  this  portrait  ?  "  persisted  Jack. 

"  I  believe  that  —  I  don't  know  exactly  —  but  I  think  it 
is  a  sister  of  Mrs.  Bivers's,"  stammered  the  deacon. 

"  Then,  of  course,  it  is  n't  the  same  woman,"  said  Jack 
in  simulated  indignation. 

"  Certainly  —  of  course  not,"  returned  the  deacon. 

"  Phew ! "  said  Jack.  "  That  was  a  mighty  close  call. 
Lucky  we  were  alone,  was  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  deacon,  with  a  feeble  smile. 

"  Seth,"  continued  Jack,  with  a  thoughtful  air,  "  looks 
like  a  quiet  man,  but  I  should  n't  like  to  have  made  that 
mistake  about  his  sister-in-law  before  him.  These  quiet 
men  are  apt  to  shoot  straight.  Better  keep  this  to  our 
selves." 

Deacon  Turner  not  only  kept  the  revelation  to  himself 
but  apparently  his  own  sacred  person  also,  as  ITe  did  not 
call  again  at  Windy  Hill  Bancho  during  Mr.  Hamlin's  stay. 


THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK   HAMLIN  207 

But  he  was  exceedingly  polite  in  his  references  to  Jack,  and 
alluded  patronizingly  to  a  "  little  chat "  they  had  had  to 
gether.  And  when  the  usual  reaction  took  place  in  Mr.  Ham- 
lin's  favor  and  Jack  was  actually  induced  to  perform  on  the 
organ  at  Hightown  Church  next  Sunday,  the  deacon's  voice 
was  loudest  in  his  praise.  Even  Parson  Greenwood  allowed 
himself  to  be  non-committal  as  to  the  truth  of  the  rumor, 
largely  circulated,  that  one  of  the  most  desperate  gamblers 
in  the  State  had  been  converted  through  his  exhortations. 

So,  with  breezy  walks  and  games  with  the  children,  occa 
sional  confidences  with  Melinda  and  Silas,  and  the  Sabbath 
"  singing  of  anthems,"  Mr.  Hamlin's  three  weeks  of  con 
valescence  drew  to  a  close.  He  had  lately  relaxed  his  habit 
of  seclusion  so  far  as  to  mingle  with  the  company  gathered 
for  more  social  purposes  at  the  rancho,  and  once  or  twice 
unbent  so  far  as  to  satisfy  their  curiosity  in  regard  to  certain 
details  of  his  profession. 

"  I  have  no  personal  knowledge  of  games  of  cards,"  said 
Parson  Greenwood  patronizingly,  "  and  think  I  am  right  in 
saying  that  our  brothers  and  sisters  are  equally  inexperi 
enced.  I  am  —  ahem  —  far  from  believing,  however,  that 
entire  ignorance  of  evil  is  the  best  preparation  for  combating 
it,  and  I  should  be  glad  if  you  'd  explain  to  the  company 
the  intricacies  of  various  games.  There  is  one  that  you 
mentioned,  with  a  —  er  —  scriptural  name." 

"  Faro,"  said  Hamlin,  with  an  unmoved  face. 

"  Pharaoh,"  repeated  the  parson  gravely;  "and  one  which 
you  call  <  poker,'  which  seems  to  require  great  self-control." 

"I  couldn't  make  you  understand  poker  without  your 
playing  it,"  said  Jack  decidedly. 

"  As  long  as  we  don't  gamble  —  that  is,  play  for  money 
—  I  see  no  objection,"  returned  the  parson. 

"And,"  said  Jack  musingly,  "you  could  use  beans." 

It  was  agreed  finally  that  there  would  be  no  falling  from 
grace  in  their  playing  among  themselves,  in  an  inquiring 


208  THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF  JACK  HAMLIN 

Christian  spirit,  under  Jack's  guidance,  he  having  decided 
to  abstain  from  card  playing  during  his  convalescence,  and 
Jack  permitted  himself  to  be  persuaded  to  show  them  the 
following  evening. 

It  so  chanced,  however,  that  Dr.  Duchesne,  finding  the 
end  of  Jack's  "  cure  "  approaching,  and  not  hearing  from 
that  interesting  invalid,  resolved  to  visit  him  at  about  this 
time.  Having  no  chance  to  apprise  Jack  of  his  intention,  on 
coming  to  Hightown  at  night  he  procured  a  conveyance  at 
the  depot  to  carry  him  to  Windy  Hill  Rancho.  The  wind 
blew  with  its  usual  nocturnal  rollicking  persistency,  and  at 
the  end  of  his  turbulent  drive  it  seemed  almost  impos 
sible  to  make  himself  heard  amongst  the  roaring  of  the 
pines  and  some  astounding  preoccupation  of  the  inmates. 
After  vainly  knocking,  the  doctor  pushed  open  the  front 
door  and  entered.  He  rapped  at  the  closed  sitting  room 
door,  but  receiving  no  reply,  pushed  it  open  upon  the  most 
unexpected  and  astounding  scene  he  had  ever  witnessed. 
Around  the  centre  table  several  respectable  members  of  the 
Hightown  Church,  including  the  parson,  were  gathered  with 
intense  and  eager  faces  playing  poker,  and  behind  the  par 
son,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  carelessly  lounged  the 
doctor's  patient,  the  picture  of  health  and  vigor.  A  disused 
pack  of  cards  was  scattered  on  the  floor,  and  before  the 
gentle  and  precise  Mrs.  Eivers  was  heaped  a  pile  of  beans 
that  would  have  filled  a  quart  measure. 

When  Dr.  Duchesne  had  tactfully  retreated  before  the 
hurried  and  stammering  apologies  of  his  host  and  hostess, 
and  was  alone  with  Jack  in  his  rooms,  he  turned  to  him 
with  a  gravity  that  was  more  than  half  affected  and  said, 
"  How  long,  sir,  did  it  take  you  to  effect  this  corruption  ?  " 

"  Upon  my  honor,"  said  Jack  simply,  "  they  played  last 
night  for  the  first  time.  And  they  forced  me  to  show  them. 
But,"  added  Jack  after  a  significant  pause,  "  I»thought  it 
would  make  the  game  livelier  and  be  more  of  a  moral  lesson 


THE   CONVALESCENCE   OF   JACK   HAMLIN  209 

if  I  gave  them  nearly  all  good  pat  hands.  So  I  ran  in  a  cold 
deck  on  them  —  the  first  time  I  ever  did  such  a  thing  in  my 
life.  I  fixed  up  a  pack  of  cards  so  that  one  had  three  tens, 
another  three  jacks,  and  another  three  queens,  and  so  on  up 
to  three  aces.  In  a  minute  they  had  all  tumbled  to  the  game, 
and  you  never  saw  such  betting.  Every  man  and  woman 
there  believed  he  or  she  had  struck  a  sure  thing,  and  staked 
accordingly.  A  new  panful  of  beans  was  brought  on,  and 
Seth,  your  friend,  banked  for  them.  And  at  last  the  par 
son  raked  in  the  whole  pile.'7 

"  I  suppose  you  gave  him  the  three  aces,"  said  Dr. 
Duchesne  gloomily. 

"  The  parson,"  said  Jack  slowly,  "  had  n't  a  single  pair 
in  his  hand.  It  was  the  stoniest,  deadest,  neatest  bluff  I 
ever  saw.  And  when  he  'd  frightened  off  the  last  man  who 
held  out  and  laid  that  measly  hand  of  his  face  down  on  that 
pile  of  kings,  queens,  and  aces,  and  looked  around  the  table 
as  he  raked  in  the  pile,  there  was  a  smile  of  humble  self- 
righteousness  on  his  face  that  was  worth  double  the  money." 


A  PUPIL  OF  CHESTNUT  RIDGE 


A  PUPIL   OF   CHESTNUT   KIDGE 

THE  schoolmaster  of  Chestnut  Bidge  was  interrupted  in 
his  after-school  solitude  by  the  click  of  hoof  and  sound  of 
voices  on  the  little  bridle  path  that  led  to  the  scant  clearing 
in  which  his  schoolhouse  stood.  He  laid  down  his  pen  as 
the  figures  of  a  man  and  woman  on  horseback  passed  the 
windows  and  dismounted  before  the  porch.  He  recognized 
the  complacent,  good-humored  faces  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hoover, 
who  owned  a  neighboring  ranch  of  some  importance  and 
who  were  accounted  well  to  do  people  by  the  community. 
Being  a  childless  couple,  however,  while  they  generously 
contributed  to  the  support  of  the  little  school,  they  had  not 
added  to  its  flock,  and  it  was  with  some  curiosity  that  the 
young  schoolmaster  greeted  them  and  awaited  the  purport 
of  their  visit.  This  was  protracted  in  delivery  through  a 
certain  polite  dalliance  with  the  real  subject  characteristic 
of  the  Southwestern  pioneer. 

"  Well,  Almiry,"  said  Mr.  Hoover,  turning  to  his  wife 
after  the  first  greeting  with  the  schoolmaster  was  over, 
"  this  makes  me  feel  like  old  times,  you  bet !  Why,  I  ain't 
bin  inside  a  schoolhouse  since  I  was  knee-high  to  a  grass 
hopper.  Thar 's  the  benches,  and  the  desks,  and  the  books 
and  all  them  '  a  b,  abs/  jest  like  the  old  days.  Dear  ! 
Dear  !  But  the  teacher  in  those  days  was  ez  old  and  grizzled 
ez  I  be  —  and  some  o'  the  scholars  —  no  offense  to  you, 
Mr.  Brooks  —  was  older  and  bigger  nor  you.  But  times  is 
changed :  yet  look,  Almiry,  if  thar  ain't  a  hunk  o'  stale 
gingerbread  in  that  desk  jest  as  it  uster  be  !  Lord  !  how  it 
all  comes  back  !  Ez  I  was  sayin'  only  t'  other  day,  we  can't 


214  A  PUPIL  OF  CHESTNUT  RIDGE 

be  too  grateful  to  our  parents  for  givin'  us  an  eddication  in 
our  youth ;  "  and  Mr.  Hoover,  with  the  air  of  recalling  an 
alma  mater  of  sequestered  gloom  and  cloistered  erudition, 
gazed  reverently  around  the  new  pine  walls. 

But  Mrs.  Hoover  here  intervened  with  a  gracious  appre 
ciation  of  the  schoolmaster's  youth  after  her  usual  kindly 
fashion.  "  And  don't  you  forget  it,  Hiram  Hoover,  that 
these  young  folks  of  to-day  kin  teach  the  old  schoolmasters 
of  'way  back  more  'n  you  and  I  dream  of.  We  've  heard  of 
your  book  larnin',  Mr.  Brooks,  afore  this,  and  we  're  proud 
to  hev  you  here,  even  if  the  Lord  has  not  pleased  to  give 
us  the  children  to  send  to  ye.  But  we  've  always  paid  our 
share  in  keeping  up  the  school  for  others  that  was  more  fa 
vored,  and  now  it  looks  as  if  He  had  not  forgotten  us,  and 
ez  if"  — with  a  significant,  half-shy  glance  at  her  husband 
and  a  corroborating  nod  from  that  gentleman — "  ez  if,  reelly, 
we  might  be  reckonin'  to  send  you  a  scholar  ourselves." 

The  young  schoolmaster,  sympathetic  and  sensitive,  felt 
somewhat  embarrassed.  The  allusion  to  his  extreme  youth, 
mollified  though  it  was  by  the  salve  of  praise  from  the  tact 
ful  Mrs.  Hoover,  had  annoyed  him,  and  perhaps  added  to  his 
slight  confusion  over  the  information  she  vouchsafed.  He 
had  not  heard  of  any  late  addition  to  the  Hoover  family, 
he  would  not  have  been  likely  to,  in  his  secluded  habits ; 
and  although  he  was  accustomed  to  the  naive  and  direct 
simplicity  of  the  pioneer,  he  could  scarcely  believe  that 
this  good  lady  was  announcing  a  maternal  expectation.  He 
smiled  vaguely  and  begged  them  to  be  seated. 

"  Ye  see,''  said  Mr.  Hoover,  dropping  upon  a  low  bench, 
"  the  way  the  thing  pans  out  is  this.  Almiry's  brother  is 
a  pow'ful  preacher  down  the  coast  at  San  Antonio  and  hez 
settled  down  thar  with  a  big  Free  Will  Baptist  Church 
congregation  and  a  heap  o'  land  got  from  them  Mexicans. 
Thar's  a  lot  o'  poor  Spanish  and  Injin  trash  that  belong  to 
the  land,  and  Almiry's  brother  hez  set  about  convertin'  'em, 


A   PUPIL   OF  CHESTNUT  RIDGE  215 

givin'  'em  convickshion  and  religion,  though  the  most  of 
'em  is  Papists  and  followers  of  the  Scarlet  Woman.  Thar 
was  an  orphan,  a  little  girl  that  he  got  outer  the  hands  o' 
them  priests,  kinder  snatched  as  a  brand  from  the  burnin', 
and  he  sent  her  to  us  to  be  brought  up  in  the  ways  o'  the 
Lord,  knowin'  that  we  had  no  children  of  our  own.  But 
we  thought  she  oughter  get  the  benefit  o'  schoolin'  too, 
besides  our  own  care,  and  we  reckoned  to  bring  her  here 
reg'lar  to  school." 

Believed  and  pleased  to  help  the  good-natured  couple  in 
the  care  of  the  homeless  waif,  albeit  somewhat  doubtful  of 
their  religious  methods,  the  schoolmaster  said  he  would  be 
delighted  to  number  her  among  his  little  flock.  Had  she 
already  received  any  tuition  ? 

"  Only  from  them  padres,  ye  know,  things  about  saints, 
Virgin  Marys,  visions,  and  miracles,"  put  in  Mrs.  Hoover ; 
"  and  we  kinder  thought  ez  you  know  Spanish  you  might 
be  able  to  get  rid  o'  them  in  exchange  for  '  conviction  o' 
sin'  and  ' justification  by  faith/  ye  know." 

"  I  'm  afraid,"  said  Mr.  Brooks,  smiling  at  the  thought 
of  displacing  the  Church's  "  mysteries  "  for  certain  cory- 
bantic  displays  and  thaumaturgical  exhibitions  he  had 
witnessed  at  the  Dissenters'  camp  meeting,  "  that  I  must 
leave  all  that  to  you,  and  I  must  caution  you  to  be  careful 
what  you  do  lest  you  also  shake  her  faith  in  the  alphabet 
and  the  multiplication  table." 

"  Mebbee  you  're  right,"  said  Mrs.  Hoover,  mystified  but 
good-natured ;  "  but  thar  's  one  thing  more  we  oughter  tell 
ye.  She  's  —  she  's  a  trifle  dark  complected." 

The  schoolmaster  smiled.      "  Well  ?  "  he  said  patiently. 

"  She  is  n't  a  nigger  nor  an  Injin,  ye  know,  but  she  's 
kinder  a  half-Spanish,  half- Mexican  Injin,  what  they  call 
'  mes  —  mes  '  "  — 

"Mestiza,"  suggested  Mr.  Brooks;  "a  half-breed  or  mon 
grel." 


216  A   PUPIL   OF  CHESTNUT  RIDGE 

"I  reckon.  Now  thar  wouldn't  be  any  objection  to 
that,  eh  ?  "  said  Mr.  Hoover  a  little  uneasily. 

"Not  by  me,"  returned  the  schoolmaster  cheerfully. 
"  And  although  this  school  is  state-aided  it 's  not  a  '  public 
school '  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  so  you  have  only  the  foolish 
prejudices  of  your  neighbors  to  deal  with."  He  had  recog 
nized  the  reason  of  their  hesitation  and  knew  the  strong 
racial  antagonism  held  towards  the  negro  and  Indian  by 
Mr.  Hoover's  Southwestern  compatriots,  and  he  could  not 
refrain  from  "  rubbing  it  in." 

"  They  kin  see,"  interposed  Mrs.  Hoover,  "  that  she  's 
not  a  nigger,  for  her  hair  don't  '  kink,'  and  a  furrin  Injin, 
of  course,  is  different  from  one  o'  our  own." 

"  If  they  hear  her  speak  Spanish,  and  you  simply  say 
she  is  a  foreigner,  as  she  is,  it  will  be  all  right,"  said  the 
schoolmaster  smilingly.  "  Let  her  come,  I  '11  look  after 
her." 

Much  relieved,  after  a  few  more  words  the  couple  took 
their  departure,  the  schoolmaster  promising  to  call  the  next 
afternoon  at  the  Hoovers'  ranch  and  meet  his  new  scholar. 
"  Ye  might  give  us  a  hint  or  two  how  she  oughter  be  fixed 
up  afore  she  joins  the  school." 

The  ranch  was  about  four  miles  from  the  schoolhouse, 
and  as  Mr.  Brooks  drew  rein  before  the  Hoovers'  gate  he 
appreciated  the  devotion  of  the  couple  who  were  willing 
to  send  the  child  that  distance  twice  a  day.  The  house, 
with  its  outbuildings,  was  on  a  more  liberal  scale  than  its 
neighbors,  and  showed  few  of  the  makeshifts  and  half 
hearted  advances  towards  permanent  occupation  common  to 
the  Southwestern  pioneers,  who  were  more  or  less  nomads 
in  instinct  and  circumstance.  He  was  ushered  into  a  well- 
furnished  sitting  room,  whose  glaring  freshness  was  subdued 
and  repressed  by  black-framed  engravings  of  ^scriptural 
subjects.  As  Mr.  Brooks  glanced  at  them  and  recalled  the 
schoolrooms  of  the  old  missions,  with  their  monastic  shadows 


A   PUPIL  OF  CHESTNUT  RIDGE  217 

which  half  hid  the  gaudy,  tinseled  saints  and  flaming  or 
ensanguined  hearts  upon  the  walls,  he  feared  that  the  little 
waif  of  Mother  Church  had  not  gained  any  cheerfulness  in 
the  exchange. 

As  she  entered  the  room  with  Mrs.  Hoover,  her  large 
dark  eyes  —  the  most  notable  feature  in  her  small  face  — 
seemed  to  sustain  the  schoolmaster's  fanciful  fear  in  their 
half-frightened  wonder.  She  was  clinging  closely  to  Mrs. 
Hoover's  side,  as  if  recognizing  the  good  woman's  maternal 
kindness  even  while  doubtful  of  her  purpose ;  but  on  the 
schoolmaster  addressing  her  in  Spanish,  a  singular  change 
took  place  in  their  relative  positions.  A  quick  look  of 
intelligence  came  into  her  melancholy  eyes,  and  with  it  a 
slight  consciousness  of  superiority  to  her  protectors  that 
was  embarrassing  to  him.  For  the  rest  he  observed  merely 
that  she  was  small  and  slightly  built,  although  her  figure 
was  hidden  in  a  long  "  check  apron  "  or  calico  pinafore 
with  sleeves  —  a  local  garment  —  which  was  utterly  incon 
gruous  with  her  originality.  Her  skin  was  olive,  inclining 
to  yellow,  or  rather  to  that  exquisite  shade  of  buff  to  be 
seen  in  the  new  bark  of  the  madrono.  Her  face  was  oval, 
and  her  mouth  small  and  childlike,  with  little  to  suggest 
the  aboriginal  type  in  her  other  features. 

The  master's  questions  elicited  from  the  child  the  fact 
that  she  could  read  and  write,  that  she  knew  her  "  Hail 
Mary "  and  creed  (happily  the  Protestant  Mrs.  Hoover 
was  unable  to  follow  this  questioning),  but  he  also  elicited 
the  more  disturbing  fact  that  her  replies  and  confidences 
suggested  a  certain  familiarity  and  equality  of  condition 
which  he  could  only  set  down  to  his  own  youthfulness  of 
appearance.  He  was  apprehensive  that  she  might  even 
make  some  remark  regarding  Mrs.  Hoover,  and  was  not  sorry 
that  the  latter  did  not  understand  Spanish.  But  before  he 
left  he  managed  to  speak  with  Mrs.  Hoover  alone  and  sug 
gested  a  change  in  the  costume  of  the  pupil  when  she  came 


218  A  PUPIL   OF  CHESTNUT  RIDGE 

to  school.  "The  better  she  is  dressed,"  suggested  the  wily 
young  diplomat,  "  the  less  likely  is  she  to  awaken  any  sus 
picion  of  her  race." 

"  Now  that 's  jest  what 's  botherin'  me,  Mr.  Brooks," 
returned  Mrs.  Hoover,  with  a  troubled  face,  "  for  you  see 
she  is  a  growin'  girl,"  and  she  concluded,  with  some  embar 
rassment,  "I  can't  quite  make  up  my  mind  how  to  dress 
her." 

"  How  old  is  she  ?  "  asked  the  master  abruptly. 

"  Goin'  on  twelve,  but,"  —  and  Mrs.  Hoover  again  hesi 
tated. 

"  Why,  two  of  my  scholars,  the  Bromly  girls,  are  over 
fourteen,"  said  the  master,  "  and  you  know  how  they  are 
dressed;"  but  here  he  hesitated  in  his  turn.  It  had  just 
occurred  to  'him  that  the  little  waif  was  from  the  extreme 
South,  and  the  precocious  maturity  of  the  mixed  races  there 
was  well  known.  He  even  remembered,  to  his  alarm,  to 
have  seen  brides  of  twelve  and  mothers  of  fourteen  among 
the  native  villagers.  This  might  also  account  for  the  sug 
gestion  of  equality  in  her  manner,  and  even  for  a  slight 
coquettishness  which  he  thought  he  had  noticed  in  her 
when  he  had  addressed  her  playfully  as  a  muchacha.  "  I 
should  dress  her  in  something  Spanish,"  he  said  hurriedly, 
"  something  white,  you  know,  with  plenty  of  flounces  and 
a  little  black  lace,  or  a  black  silk  skirt  and  a  lace  scarf,  you 
know.  She  '11  be  all  right  if  you  don't  make  her  look 
like  a  servant  or  a  dependent,"  he  added,  with  a  show 
of  confidence  he  was  far  from  feeling.  "  But  you  have  n  't 
told  me  her  name,"  he  concluded. 

"As  we're  reckonin'  to  adopt  her,"  said  Mrs.  Hoover 
gravely,  "  you  '11  give  her  ours." 

"  But  I  can't  call  her  '  Miss  Hoover,' "  suggested  the 
master  ;  "  what 's  her  first  name  ?  " 

"  We  was  thinkin'  o'  '  Serafina  Ann,'  "  said  Mrs.  Hoover 
with  more  gravity. 


A  PUPIL  OF  CHESTNUT   EIDGE  219 

"  But  what  is  her  name  ?  "  persisted  the  master. 

"  Well,"  returned  Mrs.  Hoover,  with  a  troubled  look, 
"  me  and  Hiram  consider  it 's  a  heathenish  sort  of  name  for 
a  young  gal,  but  you'll  find  it  in  my  brother's  letter." 
She  took  a  letter  from  under  the  lid  of  a  large  Bible  on 
the  table  and  pointed  to  a  passage  in  it. 

"The  child  was  christened  'Concepcion,' "  read  the 
master.  "  Why,  that  's  one  of  the  Marys  !  " 

"  The  which  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Hoover  severely. 

"  One  of  the  titles  of  the  Virgin  Mary ;  l  Maria  de  la 
Concepcion,'  "  said  Mr.  Brooks  glibly. 

"  It  don't  sound  much  like  any  thin'  so  Christian  and 
decent  as  '  Maria  '  or  '  Mary,'  "  returned  Mrs.  Hoover  sus 
piciously. 

"But  the  abbreviation,  ' Concha,'  is  very  pretty.  In 
fact  it 's  just  the  thing,  it 's  so  very  Spanish,"  returned 
the  master  decisively.  "  And  you  know  that  the  squaw 
who  hangs  about  the  mining  camp  is  called  '  Reservation 
Ann,'  and  old  Mrs.  Parkins's  negro  cook  is  called  '  Aunt 
Serafina,'  so  '  Serafina  Ann  '  is  too  suggestive.  '  Concha 
Hoover  '  's  the  name." 

"  P'r'aps  you  're  right,"  said  Mrs.  Hoover  meditatively. 

"  And  dress  her  so  she  '11  look  like  her  name  and  you  '11 
be  all  right,"  said  the  master  gayly  as  he  took  his  depar 
ture. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  with  some  anxiety  the  next  morning 
he  heard  the  sound  of  hoofs  on  the  rocky  bridle  path  lead 
ing  to  the  schoolhouse.  He  had  already  informed  his  little 
flock  of  the  probable  addition  to  their  number,  and  their 
breathless  curiosity  now  accented  the  appearance  of  Mr. 
Hoover  riding  past  the  window,  followed  by  a  little  figure 
on  horseback,  half  hidden  in  the  graceful  folds  of  a  serape. 
The  next  moment  they  dismounted  at  the  porch,  the 
serape  was  cast  aside,  and  the  new  scholar  entered. 

A  little  alarmed  even  in  his  admiration,  the  master  never- 


220  A  PUPIL   OF  CHESTNUT   RIDGE 

theless  thought  he  had  never  seen  a  more  dainty  figure. 
Her  heavily  flounced  white  skirt  stopped  short  just  above 
her  white-stockinged  ankles  and  little  feet,  hidden  in  white 
satin,  low-quartered  slippers.  Her  black  silk,  shell-like 
jacket  half  clasped  her  stay  less  bust  clad  in  an  under-bodice 
of  soft  muslin  that  faintly  outlined  a  contour  which  struck 
him  as  already  womanly.  A  black  lace  veil  which  had  pro 
tected  her  head,  she  had  on  entering  slipped  down  to  her 
shoulders  with  a  graceful  gesture,  leaving  one  end  of  it 
pinned  to  her  hair  by  a  rose  above  her  little  yellow  ear. 
The  whole  figure  was  so  inconsistent  with  its  present  set 
ting  that  the  master  inwardly  resolved  to  suggest  a  modifi 
cation  of  it  to  Mrs.  Hoover  as  he,  with  great  gravity,  how 
ever,  led  the  girl  to  the  seat  he  had  prepared  for  her.  Mr. 
Hoover,  who  had  been  assisting  discipline  as  he  conscien 
tiously  believed  by  gazing  with  hushed,  reverent  reminiscence 
on  the  walls,  here  whispered  behind  his  large  hand  that  he 
would  call  for  her  at  "  four  o'clock  "  and  tiptoed  out  of  the 
schoolroom.  The  master,  who  felt  that  everything  would 
depend  upon  his  repressing  the  children's  exuberant  curiosity 
and  maintaining  the  discipline  of  the  school  for  the  next  few 
minutes,  with  supernatural  gravity  addressed  the  young  girl 
in  Spanish  and  placed  before  her  a  few  slight  elementary 
tasks.  Perhaps  the  strangeness  of  the  language,  perhaps  the 
unwonted  seriousness  of  the  master,  perhaps  also  the  im 
passibility  of  the  young  stranger  herself,  all  contributed  to 
arrest  the  expanding  smiles  on  little  faces,  to  check  their 
wandering  eyes,  and  hush  their  eager  whispers.  By  degrees 
heads  were  again  lowered  over  their  tasks,  the  scratching  of 
pencils  on  slates,  and  the  far-off  rapping  of  woodpeckers 
again  indicated  the  normal  quiet  of  the  schoolroom,  and  the 
master  knew  he  had  triumphed,  and  the  ordeal  was  past. 

But  not  as  regarded  himself,  for  although  the  new  pupil 
had  accepted  his  instructions  with  childlike  submTssiveness, 
and  even  as  it  seemed  to  him  with  childlike  comprehension, 


A   PUFIL   OF  CHESTNUT   RIDGE  221 

he  could  not  help  noticing  that  she  occasionally  glanced  at 
him  with  a  demure  suggestion  of  some  understanding  between 
them,  or  as  if  they  were  playing  at  master  and  pupil.  This 
naturally  annoyed  him  and  perhaps  added  a  severer  dignity 
to  his  manner,  which  did  not  appear  to  be  effective,  however, 
and  which  he  fancied  secretly  amused  her.  Was  she  covertly 
laughing  at  him  ?  Yet  against  this,  once  or  twice,  as  her 
big  eyes  wandered  from  her  task  over  the  room,  they  en 
countered  the  curious  gaze  of  the  other  children,  and  he 
fancied  he  saw  an  exchange  of  that  freemasonry  of  intelli 
gence  common  to  children  in  the  presence  of  their  elders 
even  when  strangers  to  each  other.  He  looked  forward  to 
recess  to  see  how  she  would  get  on  with  her  companions  ; 
he  knew  that  this  would  settle  her  status  in  the  school,  and 
perhaps  elsewhere.  Even  her  limited  English  vocabulary 
would  not  in  any  way  affect  that  instinctive,  childlike  test 
of  superiority,  but  he  was  surprised  when  the  hour  of  recess 
came  and  he  had  explained  to  her  in  Spanish  and  English 
its  purpose,  to  see  her  quietly  put  her  arm  around  the  waist 
of  Matilda  Bromly,  the  tallest  girl  in  the  school,  as  the  two 
whisked  themselves  off  to  the  playground.  She  was  a  mere 
child  after  all ! 

Other  things  seemed  to  confirm  this  opinion.  Later,  when 
the  children  returned  from  recess,  the  young  stranger  had 
instantly  become  a  popular  idol,  and  had  evidently  dis 
pensed  her  favors  and  patronage  generously.  The  elder 
Bromly  girl  was  wearing  her  lace  veil,  another  had  posses 
sion  of  her  handkerchief,  and  a  third  displayed  the  rose 
which  had  adorned  her  left  ear,  things  of  which  the  master 
was  obliged  to  take  note  with  a  view  of  returning  them  to 
the  prodigal  little  barbarian  at  the  close  of  school.  Later  he 
was,  however,  much  perplexed  by  the  mysterious  passage 
under  the  desks  of  some  unknown  object  which  apparently 
was  making  the  circuit  of  the  school.  With  the  annoyed 
consciousness  that  he  was  perhaps  unwittingly  participating 


222  A   PUPIL   OF   CHESTNUT  RIDGE 

in  some  game,  he  finally  "  nailed  it "  in  the  possession  of 
Demosthenes  Walker,  aged  six,  to  the  spontaneous  outcry 
of  "  Cotched  !  "  from  the  whole  school.  When  produced 
from  Master  Walker's  desk  in  company  with  a  horned  toad 
and  a  piece  of  gingerbread,  it  was  found  to  be  Concha's  white 
satin  slipper,  the  young  girl  herself,  meanwhile,  bending 
demurely  over  her  task  with  the  bereft  foot  tucked  up  like 
a  bird's  under  her  skirt.  The  master,  reserving  reproof  of 
this  and  other  enormities  until  later,  contented  himself  with 
commanding  the  slipper  to  be  brought  to  him,  when  he  took 
it  to  her  with  the  satirical  remark  in  Spanish  that  the  school 
room  was  not  a  dressing  room  —  Camara  para  vestirse.  To 
his  surprise,  however,  she  smilingly  held  out  the  tiny  stock 
inged  foot  with  a  singular  combination  of  the  spoiled  child 
and  the  coquettish  senorita,  and  remained  with  it  extended 
as  if  waiting  for  him  to  kneel  and  replace  the  slipper.  But 
he  laid  it  carefully  on  her  desk. 

"  Put  it  on  at  once,"  he  said  in  English. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  tone  of  his  voice,  whatever 
his  language.  Concha  darted  a  quick  look  at  him  like  the 
momentary  resentment  of  an  animal,  but  almost  as  quickly 
her  eyes  became  suffused,  and  with  a  hurried  movement  she 
put  on  the  slipper. 

"  Please,  sir,  it  dropped  off  and  Jimmy  Snyder  passed  it 
on,"  said  a  small  explanatory  voice  among  the  benches. 

"  Silence  !  "  said  the  master. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  glad  to  see  that  the  school  had  not 
noticed  the  girl's  familiarity  even  though  they  thought  him 
"  hard."  He  was  not  sure  upon  reflection  but  that  he  had 
magnified  her  offense  and  had  been  unnecessarily  severe,  and 
this  feeling  was  augmented  by  his  occasionally  finding  her 
looking  at  him  with  the  melancholy,  wondering  eyes  of  a 
chidden  animal.  Later,  as  he  was  moving  among^the  desks 
overlooking  the  tasks  of  the  individual  pupils,  he  observed 
from  a  distance  that  her  head  was  bent  over  her  desk  while  her 


A   PUPIL  OF  CHESTNUT  EIDGE  223 

lips  were  moving  as  if  repeating  to  herself  her  lesson,  and  that 
afterwards,  with  a  swift  look  around  the  room  to  assure  her 
self  that  she  was  unobserved,  she  made  a  hurried  sign  of  the 
cross.  It  occurred  to  him  that  this  might  have  followed  some 
penitential  prayer  of  the  child,  and  remembering  her  tuition 
by  the  padres  it  gave  him  an  idea.  He  dismissed  school  a 
few  moments  earlier  in  order  that  he  might  speak  to  her 
alone  before  Mr.  Hoover  arrived. 

Referring  to  the  slipper  incident  and  receiving  her  assur 
ances  that  "  she  "  (the  slipper)  was  much  too  large  and  fell 
often  "  so,"  a  fact  really  established  by  demonstration,  he 
seized  his  opportunity.  "  But  tell  me,  when  you  were  with 
the  padre  and  your  slipper  fell  off,  you  did  not  expect  him 
to  put  it  on  for  you  ?  " 

Concha  looked  at  him  coyly  and  then  said  triumphantly, 
"  Ah,  no !  but  he  was  a  priest,  and  you  are  a  young  cabal- 
lero." 

Yet  even  after  this  audacity  Mr.  Brooks  found  he  could 
only  recommend  to  Mr.  Hoover  a  change  in  the  young  girl's 
slippers,  the  absence  of  the  rose-pinned  veil,  and  the  sub 
stitution  of  a  sunbonnet.  For  the  rest  he  must  trust  to 
circumstances.  As  Mr.  Hoover  —  who  with  large  paternal 
optimism  had  professed  to  see  already  an  improvement  in 
her — helped  her  into  the  saddle,  the  schoolmaster  could  not 
help  noticing  that  she  had  evidently  expected  him  to  per 
form  that  act  of  courtesy,  and  that  she  looked  correspond 
ingly  reproachful. 

"  The  holy  fathers  used  sometimes  to  let  me  ride  with 
them  on  their  mules,'7  said  Concha,  leaning  over  her  saddle 
towards  the  schoolmaster. 

"  Eh,  what,  missy  ?  "  said  the  Protestant  Mr.  Hoover, 
pricking  up  his  ears.  "  Now  you  just  listen  to  Mr.  Brooks's 
doctrines,  and  never  mind  them  Papists,"  he  added  as  he 
rode  away,  with  the  firm  conviction  that  the  master  had 
already  commenced  the  task  of  her  spiritual  conversion. 


224  A   PUPIL   OF   CHESTNUT  RIDGE 

The  next  day  the  master  awoke  to  find  his  little  school 
famous.  Whatever  were  the  exaggerations  or  whatever 
the  fancies  carried  home  to  their  parents  by  the  children,  the 
result  was  an  overwhelming  interest  in  the  proceedings 
and  personnel  of  the  school  by  the  whole  district.  People 
had  already  called  at  the  Hoover  ranch  to  see  Mrs.  Hoover's 
pretty  adopted  daughter.  The  master,  on  his  way  to  the 
schoolroom  that  morning,  had  found  a  few  woodmen  and 
charcoal  burners  lounging  on  the  bridle  path  that  led  from 
the  main  road.  Two  or  three  parents  accompanied  their 
children  to  school,  asserting  they  had  just  dropped  in  to  see 
how  "  Aramanta  "  or  "  Tommy  "  were  "  gettin'  on."  As 
the  school  began  to  assemble  several  unfamiliar  faces  passed 
the  windows  or  were  boldly  flattened  against  the  glass.  The 
little  schoolhouse  had  not  seen  such  a  gathering  since  it  had 
been  borrowed  for  a  political  meeting  in  the  previous  autumn. 
And  the  master  noticed  with  some  concern  that  many  of  the 
faces  were  the  same  which  he  had  seen  uplifted  to  the  glit 
tering  periods  of  Colonel  Starbottle,  "  the  war  horse  of  the 
Democracy." 

For  he  could  not  shut  his  eyes  to  the  fact  that  they  came 
from  no  mere  curiosity  to  see  the  novel  and  bizarre ;  no  ap 
preciation  of  mere  picturesqueness  or  beauty ;  and  alas !  from 
no  enthusiasm  for  the  progression  of  education.  He  knew 
the  people  among  whom  he  had  lived,  and  he  realized  the 
fatal  question  of  "  color  "  had  been  raised  in  some  mysteri 
ous  way  by  those  Southwestern  emigrants  who  had  carried 
into  this  "free  state"  their  inherited  prejudices.  A  few 
words  convinced  him  that  the  unhappy  children  had  vari 
ously  described  the  complexion  of  their  new  fellow  pupil, 
and  it  was  believed  that  the  "No'th'n  "  schoolmaster,  aided 
and  abetted  by  "  capital "  in  the  person  of  Hiram  Hoover, 
had  introduced  either  a  "nigger  wench,"  a  "Chinese  girl," 
or  an  "Injin  baby"  to  the  same  educational  privileges  as 
the  "pure  whites,"  and  so  contaminated  the  sons  of  freemen 


A  PUPIL   OF  CHESTNUT  RIDGE  225 

in  their  very  nests.  He  was  able  to  reassure  many  that  the 
child  was  of  Spanish  origin,  but  a  majority  preferred  the 
evidence  of  their  own  senses,  and  lingered  for  that  purpose. 
As  the  hour  for  her  appearance  drew  near  and  passed,  he 
was  seized  with  a  sudden  fear  that  she  might  not  come,  that 
Mr.  Hoover  had  been  prevailed  upon  by  his  compatriots,  in 
view  of  the  excitement,  to  withdraw  her  from  the  school. 
But  a  faint  cheer  from  the  bridle  path  satisfied  him,  and 
the  next  moment  a  little  retinue  swept  by  the  window,  and 
he  understood.  The  Hoovers  had  evidently  determined  to 
accent  the  Spanish  character  of  their  little  charge.  Concha, 
with  a  black  riding  skirt  over  her  flounces,  was  now 
mounted  on  a  handsome  pinto  mustang  glittering  with  sil 
ver  trappings,  accompanied  by  a  vaquero  in  a  velvet  jacket, 
Mr.  Hoover  bringing  up  the  rear.  He,  as  he  informed  the 
master,  had  merely  come  to  show  the  way  to  the  vaquero, 
who  hereafter  would  always  accompany  the  child  to  and 
from  school.  Whether  or  not  he  had  been  induced  to  this 
display  by  the  excitement  did  not  transpire.  Enough  that 
the  effect  was  a  success.  The  riding  skirt  and  her  mus 
tang's  fripperies  had  added  to  Concha's  piquancy,  and  if  her 
origin  was  still  doubted  by  some,  the  child  herself  was  ac 
cepted  with  enthusiasm.  The  parents  who  were  spectators 
were  proud  of  this  distinguished  accession  to  their  children's 
playmates,  and  when  she  dismounted  amid  the  acclaim  of 
her  little  companions,  it  was  with  the  aplomb  of  a  queen. 

The  master  alone  foresaw  trouble  in  this  encouragement 
of  her  precocious  manner.  He  received  her  quietly,  and 
when  she  had  removed  her  riding  skirt,  glancing  at  her 
feet,  said  approvingly,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you  have  changed 
your  slippers;  I  hope  they  fit  you  more  firmly  than  the 
others." 

The  child  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Quien  sabe.  But 
Pedro  (the  vaquero)  will  help  me  now  on  my  horse  when 
he  comes  for  me." 


226  A  PUPIL  OF  CHESTNUT  RIDGE 

The  master  underst^dthecTia'fircftedstic  non  sequitur  as 
an  allusion  to  his  wapt  of  gallantry  on  the  previous  day,  but 
took  no  notice  of  if.  Nevertheless,  he  wad  pleased  to  see 
during  the  day  t/at  she  was  paying  more  attention  to  her 
studies,  althougl/  they  were  generally  rehearsed  with  the 
languid  indifference  to  all  mental  accomplishment  which 
belonged  tocher  race.  Once  he  thought  to  stimulate  her 
activity  tbfrmgh  her  personal  vanity. 

WJay  can  you  not  learn  as  quickly  as  Matilda  Bromly  ? 
only  two  years  older  than  you,"  he  suggested. 

"  Ah !  Mother  of  God !  —  why  does  she  then  try  to  wear 
roses  like  me?  And  with  that  hair.  It  becomes  her 
not.'7 

The  master  became  thus  aware  for  the  first  time  that  the 
elder  Bromly  girl,  in  "  the  sincerest  form  of  flattery  "  to 
her  idol,  was  wearing  a  yellow  rose  in  her  tawny  locks,  and, 
further,  that  Master  Bromly  with  exquisite  humor  had  bur 
lesqued  his  sister's  imitation  with  a  very  small  carrot  stuck 
above  his  left  ear.  This  the  master  promptly  removed, 
adding  an  additional  sum  to  the  humorist's  already  over 
flowing  slate  by  way  of  penance,  and  returned  to  Concha. 
"But  wouldn't  you  like  to  be  as  clever  as  she?  —  you  can 
if  you  will  only  learn." 

"What  for  should  I?  Look  you;  she  has  a  devotion 
for  the  tall  one  —  the  boy  Brown!  Ah!  I  want  him 
not." 

Yet,  notwithstanding  this  lack  of  noble  ambition,  Concha 
seemed  to  have  absorbed  the  "devotion"  of  the  boys,  big 
and  little,  and  as  the  master  presently  discovered  even  that 
of  many  of  the  adult  population.  There  were  always 
loungers  on  the  bridle  path  at  the  opening  and  closing  of 
school,  and  the  vaquero,  who  now  always  accompanied  her, 
became  an  object  of  envy.  Possibly  this  caused  the  master 
to  observe  him  closely.  He  was  tall  and  thin,  with  a 


A   PUPIL  OF  CHESTNUT  KIDGE  227 

smooth  complexionless  face,  but  to  the  master's  astonish 
ment  he  had  the  blue  gray  eye  of  the  higher  or  Castilian 
type  of  native  Californian.  Further  inquiry  proved  that 
he  was  a  son  of  one  of  the  old  impoverished  Spanish  grant 
holders  whose  leagues  and  cattle  had  been  mortgaged  to  the 
Hoovers,  who  now  retained  the  son  to  control  the  live  stock 
uon  shares."  "It  looks  kinder  ez  ef  he  might  hev  an  eye 
on  that  poorty  little  gal  when  she  's  an  age  to  marry,"  sug 
gested  a  jealous  swain.  For  several  days  the  girl  submit 
ted  to  her  school  tasks  with  her  usual  languid  indifference 
and  did  not  again  transgress  the  ordinary  rules.  Nor  did 
Mr.  Brooks  again  refer  to  their  hopeless  conversation.  But 
one  afternoon  he  noticed  that  in  the  silence  and  preoccupa 
tion  of  the  class  she  had  substituted  another  volume  for  her 
text-book  and  was  perusing  it  with  the  articulating  lips  of 
the  unpracticed  reader.  He  demanded  it  from  her.  With 
blazing  eyes  and  both  hands  thrust  into  her  desk  she  refused 
and  defied  him.  Mr.  Brooks  slipped  his  arms  around  her 
waist,  quietly  lifted  her  from  the  bench  —  feeling  her  little 
teeth  pierce  the  back  of  his  hand  as  he  did  so,  but  secured 
the  book.  Two  of  the  elder  boys  and  girls  had  risen  with 
excited  faces. 

"  Sit  down !  "  said  the  master  sternly. 

They  resumed  their  places  with  awed  looks.  The  master 
examined  the  book.  It  was  a  little  Spanish  prayer  book. 
"  You  were  reading  this  1 "  he  said  in  her  own  tongue. 

"Yes.  You  shall  not  prevent  me!"  she  burst  out. 
"Mother  of  God!  they  will  not  let  me  read  it  at  the 
ranch.  They  would  take  it  from  me.  And  now  you  !  " 

"  You  may  read  it  when  and  where  you  like,  except  when 
you  should  be  studying  your  lessons,"  returned  the  master 
quietly.  "  You  may  keep  it  here  in  your  desk  and  peruse 
it  at  recess.  Come  to  me  for  it  then.  You  are  not  fit  to 
read  it  now." 


228  A  PUPIL   OF   CHESTNUT  RIDGE 

The  girl  looked  up  with  astounded  eyes,  which  in  the 
capriciousness  of  her  passionate  nature  the  next  moment 
filled  with  tears.  Then  dropping  on  her  knees  she  caught 
the  master's  bitten  hand  and  covered  it  with  tears  and 
kisses.  But  he  quietly  disengaged  it  and  lifted  her  to  her 
seat.  There  was  a  sniffling  sound  among  the  benches, 
which,  however,  quickly  subsided  as  he  glanced  around  the 
room,  and  the  incident  ended. 

Regularly  thereafter  she  took  her  prayer  book  back  at 
recess  and  disappeared  with  the  children,  finding,  as  he 
afterwards  learned,  a  seat  under  a  secluded  buckeye  tree, 
where  she  was  not  disturbed  by  them  until  her  orisons 
were  concluded.  The  children  must  have  remained  loyal 
to  some  command  of  hers,  for  the  incident  and  this  custom 
were  never  told  out  of  school,  and  the  master  did  not  con 
sider  it  his  duty  to  inform  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Hoover.  If  the 
child  could  recognize  some  check  —  even  if  it  were  deemed 
by  some  a  superstitious  one  —  over  her  capricious  and  pre 
cocious  nature,  why  should  he  interfere  ? 

One  day  at  recess  he  presently  became  conscious  of  the 
ceasing  of  those  small  voices  in  the  woods  around  the 
schoolhouse,  which  were  always  as  familiar  and  pleasant  to 
him  in  his  seclusion  as  the  song  of  their  playfellows  —  the 
birds  themselves.  The  continued  silence  at  last  awakened 
his  concern  and  curiosity.  He  had  seldom  intruded  upon 
or  participated  in  their  games  or  amusements,  remembering 
when  a  boy  himself  the  heavy  incompatibility  of  the  best 
intentioned  adult  intruder  to  even  the  most  hypocritically 
polite  child  at  such  a  moment.  A  sense  of  duty,  however, 
impelled  him  to  step  beyond  the  schoolhouse,  where  to  his 
astonishment  he  found  the  adjacent  woods  empty  and 
soundless.  He  was  relieved,  however,  after  penetrating  its 
recesses,  to  hear  the  distant  sound  of  small  applause  and 
the  unmistakable  choking  gasps  of  Johnny  Stidger's  pocket 
accordion.  Following  the  sound  he  came  at  last  upon  a 


A  PUPIL  OF  CHESTNUT  RIDGE  229 

little  hollow  among  the  sycamores,  where  the  children  were 
disposed  in  a  ring,  in  the  centre  of  which,  with  a  handker 
chief  in  each  hand,  Concha  the  melancholy !  —  Concha  the 
devout !  —  was  dancing  that  most  extravagant  feat  of  the 
fandango  —  the  audacious  sembicuaca! 

Yet,  in  spite  of  her  rude  and  uncertain  accompaniment, 
she  was  dancing  it  with  a  grace,  precision,  and  lightness 
that  was  wonderful;  in  spite  of  its  doubtful  poses  and  se 
ductive  languors  she  was  dancing  it  with  the  artless  gayety 
and  innocence  —  perhaps  from  the  suggestion  of  her  tiny 
figure  —  of  a  mere  child  among  an  audience  of  children. 
Dancing  it  alone  she  assumed  the  parts  of  the  man  and 
woman;  advancing,  retreating,  coquetting,  rejecting,  coyly 
bewitching,  and  at  last  yielding  as  lightly  and  as  immate 
rially  as  the  flickering  shadows  that  fell  upon  them  from 
the  waving  trees  overhead.  The  master  was  fascinated  yet 
troubled.  What  if  there  had  been  older  spectators  ?  Would 
the  parents  take  the  performance  as  innocently  as  the  per 
former  and  her  little  audience  1  He  thought  it  necessary 
later  to  suggest  this  delicately  to  the  child.  Her  temper 
rose,  her  eyes  flashed. 

"Ah,  the  slipper,  she  is  forbidden.  The  prayer  book  — 
she  must  not.  The  dance,  it  is  not  good.  Truly,  there  is 
nothing." 

For  several  days  she  sulked.  One  morning  she  did  not 
come  to  school,  nor  the  next.  At  the  close  of  the  third 
day  the  master  called  at  the  Hoovers'  ranch. 

Mrs.  Hoover  met  him  embarrassedly  in  the  hall.  "I  was 
say  in'  to  Hiram  he  ought  to  tell  ye,  but  he  didn't  like  to 
till  it  was  certain.  Concha  's  gone." 

"  Gone  1 "  echoed  the  master. 

"Yes.  Run  off  with  Pedro.  Married  to  him  yesterday 
by  the  Popish  priest  at  the  mission." 

"Carried!     That  child?" 

"She  wasn't  no  child,  Mr.  Brooks.     We  were  deceived. 


230  A   PUPIL  OF  CHESTNUT  RIDGE 

My  brother  was  a  fool,  and  men  don't  understand  these 
things.  She  was  a  grown  woman  —  accordin'  to  these 
folks'  ways  and  ages  —  when  she  kem  here.  And  that's 
what  bothered  me." 

There  was  a  week's  excitement  at  Chestnut  Ridge,  but  it 
pleased  the  master  to  know  that  while  the  children  grieved 
for  the  loss  of  Concha  they  never  seemed  to  understand  why 
she  had  gone. 


DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD 


DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CABD 

THE  Sage  Wood  and  Dead  Flat  stage  coach  was  waiting 
before  the  station.  The  Pine  Barrens  mail  wagon  that 
connected  with  it  was  long  overdue,  with  its  transfer  pas 
sengers,  and  the  station  had  relapsed  into  listless  expecta 
tion.  Even  the  humors  of  Dick  Boyle,  the  Chicago 
"  drummer,"  —  and,  so  far,  the  solitary  passenger  —  which 
had  diverted  the  waiting  loungers,  began  to  fail  in  effect, 
though  the  cheerfulness  of  the  humorist  was  unabated. 
The  ostlers  had  slunk  back  into  the  stables,  the  station 
keeper  and  stage  driver  had  reduced  their  conversation  to 
impatient  monosyllables,  as  if  each  thought  the  other  re 
sponsible  for  the  delay.  A  solitary  Indian,  wrapped  in  a 
commissary  blanket  and  covered  by  a  cast-off  tall  hat, 
crouched  against  the  wall  of  the  station  looking  stolidly  at 
nothing.  The  station  itself,  a  long,  rambling  building  con 
taining  its  entire  accommodation  for  man  and  beast  under 
one  monotonous,  shed-like  roof,  offered  nothing  to  attract 
the  eye.  Still  less  the  prospect,  on  the  one  side  two  miles 
of  arid  waste  to  the  stunted,  far-spaced  pines  in  the  distance, 
known  as  the  "  Barrens  ;  "  on  the  other  an  apparently  lim 
itless  level  with  darker  patches  of  sage  brush,  like  the  scars 
of  burnt-out  fires. 

Dick  Boyle  approached  the  motionless  Indian  as  a  possi 
ble  relief.  "  You  don't  seem  to  care  much  if  school  keeps 
or  not,  do  you,  Lo  ?  " 

The  Indian,  who  had  been  half  crouching  on  his  upturned 
soles,  here  straightened  himself  with  a  lithe,  animal-like 
movement,  and  stood  up.  Boyle  took  hold  of  a  corner  of 
his  blanket  and  examined  it  critically. 


234  DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD 

"  Gov'ment  ain't  pampering  you  with  Al  goods,  Lo  !  I 
reckon  the  agent  charged  'em  four  dollars  for  that.  Our 
firm  could  have  delivered  them  to  you  for  2  dols.  37  cents, 
and  thrown  in  a  box  of  beads  in  the  bargain.  Suthin  like 
this  !  "  He  took  from  his  pocket  a  small  box  containing 
a  gaudy  bead  necklace  and  held  it  up  before  the  Indian. 

The  savage,  who  had  regarded  him  —  or  rather  looked 
beyond  him  —  with  the  tolerating  indifference  of  one  inter 
rupted  by  a  frisking  inferior  animal,  here  suddenly  changed 
his  expression.  A  look  of  childish  eagerness  came  into  his 
gloomy  face ;  he  reached  out  his  hand  for  the  trinket. 

"  Hoi'  on  !  "  said  Boyle,  hesitating  for  a  moment ;  then 
he  suddenly  ejaculated,  "  Well !  take  it,  and  one  o'  these," 
and  drew  a  business  card  from  his  pocket,  which  he  stuck  in 
the  band  of  the  battered  tall  hat  of  the  aborigine.  "  There ! 
show  that  to  your  friends,  and  when  you  're  wantin'  any 
thing  in  our  line  "  — 

The  interrupting  roar  of  laughter,  coming  from  the  box 
seat  of  the  coach,  was  probably  what  Boyle  was  expecting, 
for  he  turned  away  demurely  and  walked  towards  the  coach. 
"  All  right,  boys !  I  've  squared  the  noble  red  man,  and  the 
star  of  empire  is  taking  its  westward  way.  And  I  reckon 
our  firm  will  do  the  <  Great  Father '  business  for  him  at 
about  half  the  price  that  it  is  done  in  Washington." 

But  at  this  point  the  ostlers  came  hurrying  out  of  the 
stables.  "She's  comin',"  said  one.  "  That's  her  dust 
just  behind  the  Lone  Pine  —  and  by  the  way  she  's  racin'  I 
reckon  she 's  comin'  in  mighty  light." 

"That's  so,"  said  the  mail  agent,  standing  up  on  the 
box  seat  for  a  better  view,  "  but  darned  ef  I  kin  see  any 
outside  passengers.  I  reckon  we  have  n't  waited  for  much." 

Indeed,  as  the  galloping  horses  of  the  incoming  vehicle 
pulled  out  of  the  hanging  dust  in  the  distance,  the  solitary 
driver  could  be  seen  urging  on  his  team.  In  £  few  mo 
ments  more  they  had  halted  at  the  lower  end  of  the  station. 


DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD  235 

"  Wonder  what  's  up  !  "  said  the  mail  agent. 

"Nothin'  !  Only  a  big  Injin  scare  at  Pine  Barrens,'' 
said  one  of  the  ostlers.  "Injins  doin'  ghost  dancin'  — or 
suthin  like  that  —  and  the  passengers  just  skunked  out 
and  went  on  by  the  other  line.  Thar 's  only  one  ez  dar 
come  —  and  she  's  a  lady." 

"  A  lady  ?  "  echoed  Boyle. 

"  Yes/7  answered  the  driver,  taking  a  deliberate  survey 
of  a  tall,  graceful  girl  who,  waiving  the  gallant  assistance  of 
the  station  keeper,  had  leaped  unaided  from  the  vehicle. 
"  A  lady  —  and  the  fort  commandant's  darter  at  that ! 
She  'a  clar  grit,  you  bet  —  a  chip  o'  the  old  block.  And 
all  this  means,  sonny,  that  you  're  to  give  up  that  box 
seat  to  her.  Miss  Julia  Cantire  don't  take  anythin'  less 
when  I  'm  around." 

The  young  lady  was  already  walking,  directly  and  com 
posedly,  towards  the  waiting  coach  —  erect,  self-contained, 
well  gloved  and  booted,  and  clothed,  even  in  her  dust 
cloak  and  cape  of  plain  ashen  merino,  with  the  unmistak 
able  panoply  of  taste  and  superiority.  A  good-sized  aqui 
line  nose,  which  made  her  handsome  mouth  look  smaller  ; 
gray  eyes,  with  an  occasional  humid  yellow  sparkle  in  their 
depths  ;  brown  penciled  eyebrows,  and  brown  tendrils  of 
hair,  all  seemed  to  Boyle  to  be  charmingly  framed  in  by 
the  silver  gray  veil  twisted  around  her  neck  and  under  her 
oval  chin.  In  her  sober  tints  she  appeared  to  him  to  have 
evoked  a  harmony  even  out  of  the  dreadful  dust  around 
them.  What  he  appeared  to  her  was  not  so  plain  ;  she 
looked  him  over  —  he  was  rather  short ;  through  him  — 
he  was  easily  penetrable ;  and  then  her  eyes  rested  with  a 
frank  recognition  on  the  driver. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Foster,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  Mornin',  miss.  I  hear  they  're  havin'  an  Injin  scare 
over  at  the  Barrens.  I  reckon  them  men  must  feel  mighty 
mean  at  bein'  stumped  by  a  lady  ! " 


236  DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD 

"I  don't  think  they  believed  I  would  go,  and  some  of 
them  had  their  wives  with  them/'  returned  the  young  lady 
indifferently  ;  "  besides,  they  are  Eastern  people,  who  don't 
know  Indians  as  well  as  we  do,  Mr.  Foster." 

The  driver  blushed  with  pleasure  at  the  association. 
"  Yes,  ma'am,"  he  laughed,  "  I  reckon  the  sight  of  even  old 
'  Fleas  in  the  Blanket '  over  there,"  pointing  to  the  Indian, 
who  was  walking  stolidly  away  from  the  station,  "  would 
frighten  'em  out  o'  their  boots.  And  yet  he  's  got  inside  his 
hat  the  business  card  o'  this  gentleman  —  Mr.  Dick  Boyle, 
traveling  for  the  big  firm  o'  Fletcher  &  Co.  of  Chicago  "  — 
he  interpolated,  rising  suddenly  to  the  formal  heights  of 
polite  introduction  ;  "  so  it  sorter  looks  ez  ef  any  skelpin'  was 
to  be  done  it  might  be  the  other  way  round,  ha  !  ha  !  " 

Miss  Cantire  accepted  the  introduction  and  the  joke  with 
polite  but  cool  abstraction,  and  climbed  lightly  into  the  box 
seat  as  the  mail  bags  and  a  quantity  of  luggage  —  evidently 
belonging  to  the  evading  passengers  —  were  quickly  trans 
ferred  to  the  coach.  But  for  his  fair  companion,  the  driver 
would  probably  have  given  profane  voice  to  his  conviction 

that  his  vehicle  was  used  as  a  "  d d  baggage  truck,"  but 

he  only  smiled  grimly,  gathered  up  his  reins,  and  nicked 
his  whip.  The  coach  plunged  forward  into  the  dust,  which 
instantly  rose  around  it,  and  made  it  thereafter  a  mere  cloud 
in  the  distance.  Some  of  that  dust  for  a  moment  overtook 
and  hid  the  Indian,  walking  stolidly  in  its  track,  but  he 
emerged  from  it  at  an  angle,  with  a  quickened  pace  and  a 
peculiar  halting  trot.  Yet  that  trot  was  so  well  sustained 
that  in  an  hour  he  had  reached  a  fringe  of  rocks  and  low 
bushes  hitherto  invisible  through  the  irregularities  of  the  ap 
parently  level  plain,  into  which  he  plunged  and  disappeared. 
The  dust  cloud  which  indicated  the  coach  —  probably  owing 
to  these  same  irregularities  —  had  long  since  been  lost  on 
the  visible  horizon. 

The  fringe  which  received  him  was  really  the  rim  of  a 


DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD  237 

depression  quite  concealed  from  the  surface  of  the  plain,  — 
which  it  followed  for  some  miles  through  a  tangled  trough- 
like  bottom  of  low  trees  and  underbrush,  —  and  was  a  nat 
ural  cover  for  wolves,  coyotes,  and  occasionally  bears,  whose 
half-human  footprint  might  have  deceived  a  stranger.  This 
did  not,  however,  divert  the  Indian,  who,  trotting  still  dog 
gedly  on,  paused  only  to  examine  another  footprint  —  much 
more  frequent  —  the  smooth,  inward-toed  track  of  moccasins. 
The  thicket  grew  more  dense  and  difficult  as  he  went  on,  yet 
he  seemed  to  glide  through  its  density  and  darkness  —  an 
obscurity  that  now  seemed  to  be  stirred  by  other  moving 
objects,  dimly  seen,  and  as  uncertain  and  intangible  as  sunlit 
leaves  thrilled  by  the  wind,  yet  bearing  a  strange  resemblance 
to  human  figures  !  Pressing  a  few  yards  further,  he  himself 
presently  became  a  part  of  this  shadowy  procession,  which 
on  closer  scrutiny  revealed  itself  as  a  single  file  of  Indians, 
following  each  other  in  the  same  tireless  trot.  The  woods 
and  underbrush  were  full  of  them  ;  all  moving  on,  as  he  had 
moved,  in  a  line  parallel  with  the  vanishing  coach.  Some 
times  through  the  openings  a  bared  painted  limb,  a  crest  of 
feathers,  or  a  strip  of  gaudy  blanket  was  visible,  but  no 
thing  more.  And  yet  only  a  few  hundred  yards  away 
stretched  the  dusky,  silent  plain  —  vacant  of  sound  or 
motion ! 

Meanwhile  the  Sage  Wood  and  Pine  Barren  stage  coach, 
profoundly  oblivious  —  after  the  manner  of  all  human  in 
vention —  of  everything  but  its  regular  function,  toiled  dust 
ily  out  of  the  higher  plain  and  began  the  grateful  descent  of 
a  wooded  canon,  which  was,  in  fact,  the  culminating  point 
of  the  depression,  just  described,  along  which  the  shadowy 
procession  was  slowly  advancing,  hardly  a  mile  in  the  rear 
and  flank  of  the  vehicle.  Miss  Julia  Cantire,  who  had  faced 
the  dust  volleys  of  the  plain  unflinchingly,  as  became  a  sol 
dier's  daughter,  here  stood  upright  and  shook  herself  —  her 


238  DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD 

pretty  head  and  figure  emerging  like  a  goddess  from  the  en 
veloping  silver  cloud.  At  least  Mr.  Boyle,  relegated  to  the 
back  seat,  thought  so  —  although  her  conversation  and  atten 
tions  had  been  chiefly  directed  to  the  driver  and  mail  agent. 
Once,  when  he  had  light-heartedly  addressed  a  remark  to  her, 
it  had  been  received  with  a  distinct  but  unpromising  polite 
ness  that  had  made  him  desist  from  further  attempts,  yet 
without  abatement  of  his  cheerfulness,  or  resentment  of  the 
evident  amusement  his  two  male  companions  got  out  of 
his  "  snub."  Indeed,  it  is  to  be  feared  that  Miss  Julia  had 
certain  prejudices  of  position,  and  may  have  thought  that 
a  " drummer"  —  or  commercial  traveler — was  no  more  fit 
ting  company  for  the  daughter  of  a  major  than  an  ordinary 
peddler.  But  it  was  more  probable  that  Mr.  Boyle's  repu 
tation  as  a  humorist  —  a  teller  of  funny  stories  and  a  boon 
companion  of  men  —  was  inconsistent  with  the  feminine  ideal 
of  high  and  exalted  manhood.  The  man  who  "  sets  the 
table  in  a  roar  "  is  apt  to  be  secretly  detested  by  the  sex,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  other  obvious  reasons  why  Juliets  do  not 
like  Mercutios ! 

For  some  such  cause  as  this  Dick  Boyle  was  obliged  to 
amuse  himself  silently,  alone  on  the  back  seat,  with  those 
liberal  powers  of  observation  which  nature  had  given  him. 
On  entering  the  canon  he  had  noticed  the  devious  route  the 
coach  had  taken  to  reach  it,  and  had  already  invented  an 
improved  route  which  should  enter  the  depression  at  the 
point  where  the  Indians  had  already  (unknown  to  him) 
plunged  into  it,  and  had  conceived  a  road  through  the  tan 
gled  brush  that  would  shorten  the  distance  by  some  miles. 
He  had  figured  it  out,  and  believed  that  it  "  would  pay." 
But  by  this  time  they  were  beginning  the  somewhat  steep 
and  difficult  ascent  of  the  canon  on  the  other  side.  The 
vehicle  had  not  crawled  many  yards  before  it  stopped.  Dick 
Boyle  glanced  around.  Miss  Cantire  was  getting  down.  She 
had  expressed  a  wish  to  walk  the  rest  of  the  ascent,  and  the 


DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD  239 

coach  was  to  wait  for  her  at  the  top.  Foster  had  effusively 
begged  her  to  take  her  own  time  —  "  there  was  no  hurry  !  " 
Boyle  glanced  a  little  longingly  after  her  graceful  figure, 
released  from  her  cramped  position  on  the  box,  as  it  flitted 
youthfully  in  and  out  of  the  wayside  trees ;  he  would  like 
to  have  joined  her  in  the  woodland  ramble,  but  even  his  good 
nature  was  not  proof  against  her  ^difference.  At  a  turn  in 
the  road  they  lost  sight  of  her,  and,  as  the  driver  and  mail 
agent  were  deep  in  a  discussion  about  the  indistinct  track, 
Boyle  lapsed  into  his  silent  study  of  the  country.  Suddenly 
he  uttered  a  slight  exclamation,  and  quietly  slipped  from  the 
back  of  the  toiling  coach  to  the  ground.  The  action  was, 
however,  quickly  noted  by  the  driver,  who  promptly  put  his 
foot  on  the  brake  and  pulled  up.  "  Wot 's  up  now  ?  "  he 
growled. 

Boyle  did  not  reply,  but  ran  back  a  few  steps  and  began 
searching  eagerly  on  the  ground. 

"  Lost  suthin  ?  "  asked  Foster. 

"  Found  something,"  said  Boyle,  picking  up  a  small  object. 

"  Look  at  that !  D d  if  it  is  n't  the  card  I  gave  that 

Indian  four  hours  ago  at  the  station  ! "  He  held  up  the 
card. 

"  Look  yer,  sonny,"  retorted  Foster  gravely,  "  ef  yer 
wantin'  to  get  out  and  hang  round  Miss  Cantire,  why  don't 
yer  say  so  at  oncet  ?  That  story  won't  wash  !  " 

"  Fact !  "  continued  Boyle  eagerly.  "  It 's  the  same  card 
I  stuck  in  his  hat  —  there  's  the  greasy  mark  in  the  corner. 
How  the  devil  did  it  —  how  did  he  get  here  ?  " 

"  Better  ax  him,"  said  Foster  grimly,  "  ef  he  's  anywhere 
round." 

"  But  I  say,  Foster,  I  don't  like  the  look  of  this  at  all  ! 
Miss  Cantire  is  alone,  and  "  — 

But  a  burst  of  laughter  from  Foster  and  the  mail  agent 
interrupted  him.  "  That 's  so,"  said  Foster.  "  That 's  your 
best  holt !  Keep  it  up  !  You  jest  tell  her  that !  Say  thar  's 


240  DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD 

another  Injin  skeer  on ;  that  that  thar  bloodthirsty  ole 
'  Fleas  in  His  Blanket '  is  on  the  warpath,  and  you  're  goin' 
to  shed  the  last  drop  o'  your  blood  defendin'  her  !  That  '11 
fetch  her,  and  she  ain't  bin  treatiri'  you  well  !  G'lang !  " 

The  horses  started  forward  under  Foster's  whip,  leaving 
Boyle  standing  there,  half  inclined  to  join  in  the  laugh  against 
himself,  and  yet  impelled  by  some  strange  instinct  to  take 
a  more  serious  view  of  his  discovery.  There  was  no  doubt 
it  was  the  same  card  he  had  given  to  the  Indian.  True,  that 
Indian  might  have  given  it  to  another  —  yet  by  what  agency 
had  it  been  brought  there  faster  than  the  coach  traveled  on 
the  same  road,  and  yet  invisibly  to  them  ?  For  an  instant 
the  humorous  idea  of  literally  accepting  Foster's  challenge, 
and  communicating  his  discovery  to  Miss  Cantire,  occurred 
to  him ;  he  could  have  made  a  funny  story  out  of  it,  and 
could  have  amused  any  other  girl  with  it,  but  he  would  not 
force  himself  upon  her,  and  again  doubted  if  the  discovery 
were  a  matter  of  amusement.  If  it  were  really  serious,  why 
should  he  alarm  her  ?  He  resolved,  however,  to  remain 
on  the  road,  and  within  convenient  distance  of  her,  until  she 
returned  to  the  coach  ;  she  could  not  be  far  away.  With 
this  purpose  he  walked  slowly  on,  halting  occasionally  to 
look  behind. 

Meantime  the  coach  continued  its  difficult  ascent,  a  diffi 
culty  made  greater  by  the  singular  nervousness  of  the  horses, 
that  only  with  great  trouble  and  some  objurgation  from  the 
driver  could  be  prevented  from  shying  from  the  regular  track. 

"  Now,  wot 's  gone  o'  them  critters  ? "  said  the  irate 
Foster,  straining  at  the  reins  until  he  seemed  to  lift  the 
leader  back  into  the  track  again. 

"  Looks  as  ef  they  smelt  suthin  —  b'ar  or  Injin  ponies," 
suggested  the  mail  agent. 

"  Injin  ponies  ?  "  repeated  Foster  scornfully. 

"Fac'  !  Injin  ponies  set  a  hoss  crazy  — jest  as  wild 
bosses  would  !  " 


DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD  241 

"  Whar  's  yer  Injin  ponies  ?  "  demanded  Foster  incredu 
lously. 

"  Dunno,"  said  the  mail  agent  simply. 

But  here  the  horses  again  swerved  so  madly  from  some 
point  of  the  thicket  beside  them  that  the  coach  completely 
left  the  track  on  the  right.  Luckily  it  was  a  disused  trail 
and  the  ground  fairly  good,  and  Foster  gave  them  their  heads, 
satisfied  of  his  ability  to  regain  the  regular  road  when  neces 
sary.  It  took  some  moments  for  him  to  recover  complete 
control  of  the  frightened  animals,  and  then  their  nervousness 
having  abated  with  their  distance  from  the  thicket,  and  the 
trail  being  less  steep  though  more  winding  than  the  regular 
road,  he  concluded  to  keep  it  until  he  got  to  the  summit, 
when  he  would  regain  the  highway  once  more  and  await 
his  passengers.  Having  done  this,  the  two  men  stood  up  on 
the  box,  and  with  an  anxiety  they  tried  to  conceal  from 
each  other  looked  down  the  canon  for  the  lagging  pedes 
trians. 

"  I  hope  Miss  Cantire  has  n't  been  stampeded  from  the 
track  by  any  skeer  like  that,"  said  the  mail  agent  dubiously. 

"  Not  she  !  She  's  got  too  much  grit  and  sabe  for  that, 
unless  that  drummer  hez  caught  up  with  her  and  unloaded 
his  yarn  about  that  kyard." 

They  were  the  last  words  the  men  spoke.  For  two  rifle 
shots  cracked  from  the  thicket  beside  the  road ;  two  shots 
aimed  with  such  deliberateness  and  precision  that  the  two 
men,  mortally  stricken,  collapsed  where  they  stood,  hanging 
for  a  brief  moment  over  the  dashboard  before  they  rolled 
over  on  the  horses'  backs.  Nor  did  they  remain  there  long, 
for  the  next  moment  they  were  seized  by  half  a  dozen  shadowy 
figures  and  with  the  horses  and  their  cut  traces  dragged  into 
the  thicket.  A  half  dozen  and  then  a  dozen  other  shadows 
flitted  and  swarmed  over,  in,  and  through  the  coach,  rein 
forced  by  still  more,  until  the  whole  vehicle  seemed  to  be 
possessed,  covered,  and  hidden  by  them,  swaying  and  mov- 


242  DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD 

ing  with  their  weight,  like  helpless  carrion  beneath  a  pack 
of  ravenous  wolves.  Yet  even  while  this  seething  congre 
gation  was  at  its  greatest,  at  some  unknown  signal  it  as  sud 
denly  dispersed,  vanished,  and  disappeared,  leaving  the  coach 
empty  —  vacant  and  void  of  all  that  had  given  it  life, 
weight,  animation,  and  purpose  —  a  mere  skeleton  on  the 
roadside.  The  afternoon  wind  blew  through  its  open  doors 
and  ravaged  rack  and  box  as  if  it  had  been  the  wreck  of 
weeks  instead  of  minutes,  and  the  level  rays  of  the  setting 
sun  flashed  and  blazed  into  its  windows  as  though  fire  had 
been  added  to  the  ruin.  But  even  this  presently  faded, 
leaving  the  abandoned  coach  a  rigid,  lifeless  spectre  on  the 
twilight  plain. 

An  hour  later  there  was  the  sound  of  hurrying  hoofs  and 
jingling  accoutrements,  and  out  of  the  plain  swept  a  squad 
of  cavalrymen  bearing  down  upon  the  deserted  vehicle.  For 
a  few  moments  they,  too,  seemed  to  surround  and  possess  it,, 
even  as  the  other  shadows  had  done,  penetrating  the  woods 
and  thicket  beside  it.  And  then  as  suddenly  at  some  signal 
they  swept  forward  furiously  in  the  track  of  the  destroying 
shadows. 

Miss  Cantire  took  full  advantage  of  the  suggestion  "  not 
to  hurry  "  in  her  walk,  with  certain  feminine  ideas  of  its 
latitude.  She  gathered  a  few  wild  flowers  and  some  berries 
in  the  underwood,  inspected  some  birds'  nests  with  a  healthy 
youthful  curiosity,  and  even  took  the  opportunity  of  arrang 
ing  some  moist  tendrils  of  her  silky  hair  with  something  she 
took  from  the  small  reticule  that  hung  coquettishly  from  her 
girdle.  It  was,  indeed,  some  twenty  minutes  before  she 
emerged  into  the  road  again ;  the  vehicle  had  evidently  dis 
appeared  in  a  turn  of  the  long,  winding  ascent,  but  just 
ahead  of  her  was  that  dreadful  man,  the  "  Chicago  drum 
mer."  She  was  not  vain,  but  she  made  no  doubt  ffiat  he  was 
waiting  there  for  her.  There  was  no  avoiding  him,  but  his 


DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD  243 

companionship  could  be  made  a  brief  one.  She  began  to 
walk  with  ostentatious  swiftness. 

Boyle,  whose  concern  for  her  safety  was  secretly  relieved 
at  this,  began  to  walk  forward  briskly  too  without  looking 
around.  Miss  Cantire  was  not  prepared  for  this  ;  it  looked 
so  ridiculously  as  if  she  were  chasing  him !  She  hesitated 
slightly,  but  now  as  she  was  nearly  abreast  of  him  she  was 
obliged  to  keep  on. 

"  I  think  you  do  well  to  hurry,  Miss  Cantire,"  he  said  as 
she  passed.  "  1 've  lost  sight  of  the  coach  for  some  time,  and 
I  dare  say  they  're  already  waiting  for  us  at  the  summit." 

Miss  Cantire  did  not  like  this  any  better.  To  go  on  be 
side  this  dreadful  man,  scrambling  breathlessly  after  the 
stage  —  for  all  the  world  like  an  absorbed  and  sentimentally 
belated  pair  of  picnickers  —  was  really  too  much.  "  Per 
haps  if  you  ran  on  and  told  them  I  was  coming  as  fast  as 
I  could,"  she  suggested  tentatively. 

"  It  would  be  as  much  as  my  life  is  worth  to  appear 
before  Foster  without  you,"  he  said  laughingly.  "  You  've 
only  got  to  hurry  on  a  little  faster." 

But  the  young  lady  resented  this  being  driven  by  a 
"  drummer."  She  began  to  lag,  depressing  her  pretty  brows 
ominously. 

"  Let  me  carry  your  flowers,"  said  Boyle.  He  had  noticed 
that  she  was  finding  some  difficulty  in  holding  up  her  skirt 
and  the  nosegay  at  the  same  time. 

"  No  !  No  !  "  she  said  in  hurried  horror  at  this  new  sug 
gestion  of  their  companionship.  "  Thank  you  very  much  — 
but  they  're  really  not  worth  keeping  —  I  am  going  to  throw 
them  away.  There  !  "  she  added,  tossing  them  impatiently  in 
the  dust. 

But  she  had  not  reckoned  on  Boyle's  perfect  good-humor. 
That  gentle  idiot  stooped  down,  actually  gathered  them  up 
again,  and  was  following  !  She  hurried  on ;  if  she  could 
only  get  to  the  coach  first,  ignoring  him !  But  a  vulgar 


244  DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CAED 

man  like  that  would  be  sure  to  hand  them  to  her  with  some 
joke  !  Then  she  lagged  again  —  she  was  getting  tired,  and 
she  could  see  no  sign  of  the  coach.  The  drummer,  too,  was 
also  lagging  behind  —  at  a  respectful  distance,  like  a  groom 
or  one  of  her  father's  troopers.  Nevertheless  this  did  not 
put  her  in  a  much  better  humor,  and  halting  until  he  came 
abreast  of  her,  she  said  impatiently  :  "I  don't  see  why  Mr. 
Foster  should  think  it  necessary  to  send  any  one  to  look 
after  me." 

"  He  did  n't,"  returned  Boyle  simply.  "  I  got  down  to 
pick  up  something." 

"  To  pick  up  something  ?  "  she  returned  incredulously. 

"  Yes.  That."  He  held  out  the  card.  "  It 's  the  card  of 
our  firm." 

Miss  Cantire  smiled  ironically.  "  You  are  certainly  de 
voted  to  your  business." 

"  Well,  yes,"  returned  Boyle  good-humoredly.  "  You  see 
I  reckon  it  don't  pay  to  do  anything  halfway.  And  what 
ever  I  do,  I  mean  to  keep  rny  eyes  about  me."  In  spite  of 
her  prejudice,  Miss  Cantire  could  see  that  these  necessary 
organs,  if  rather  flippant,  were  honest.  "Yes,  I  suppose 
there  is  n't  much  on  that  I  don't  take  in.  Why  now,  Miss 
Cantire,  there 's  that  fancy  dust  cloak  you  're  wearing  —  it 
is  n't  in  our  line  of  goods  —  nor  in  anybody's  line  west  of 
Chicago ;  it  came  from  Boston  or  New  York,  and  was  made 
for  home  consumption  !  But  your  hat  —  and  mighty  pretty 
it  is  too,  as  you  've  fixed  it  up  —  is  only  regular  Dunstable 
stock,  which  we  could  put  down  at  Pine  Barrens  for  four  and 
a  half  cents  a  piece,  net.  Yet  I  suppose  you  paid  nearly 
twenty-five  cents  for  it  at  the  Agency  !  " 

Oddly  enough  this  cool  appraisement  of  her  costume  did 
not  incense  the  young  lady  as  it  ought  to  have  done.  On 
the  contrary,  for  some  occult  feminine  reason,  it  amused  and 
interested  her.  It  would  be  such  a  good  story  to  tell  her 
friends  of  a  "drummer's"  idea  of  gallantry;  and  to  tease 


DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD  245 

the  flirtatious  young  West  Pointer  who  had  just  joined. 
And  the  appraisement  was  truthful  —  Major  Cantire  had 
only  his  pay  —  and  Miss  Cantire  had  been  obliged  to  select 
that  hat  from  the  government  stores. 

"Are  you  in  the  habit  of  giving  this  information  to 
ladies  you  meet  in  traveling  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,,  no  !  "  answered  Boyle  —  "  for  that  's  just  where 
you  have  to  keep  your  eyes  open.  Most  of  'em  would  n't 
like  it,  and  it 's  no  use  aggravating  a  possible  customer. 
But  you  are  not  that  kind." 

Miss  Cantire  was  silent.  She  knew  she  was  not  of  that 
kind,  but  she  did  not  require  his  vulgar  indorsement.  She 
pushed  on  for  some  moments  alone,  when  suddenly  he  hailed 
her.  She  turned  impatiently.  He  was  carefully  examining 
the  road  on  both  sides. 

"  We  have  either  lost  our  way,"  he  said,  rejoining  her, 
"  or  the  coach  has  turned  off  somewhere.  These  tracks  are 
not  fresh,  and  as  they  are  all  going  the  same  way,  they  were 
made  by  the  up  coach  last  night.  They  're  not  our  tracks ; 
I  thought  it  strange  we  had  n't  sighted  the  coach  by  this 
time." 

"  And  then  "  —  said  Miss  Cantire  impatiently. 

"  We  must  turn  back  until  we  find  them  again." 

The  young  lady  frowned.  "  Why  not  keep  on  until  we 
get  to  the  top  ?  "  she  said  pettishly.  "  I  'm  sure  /  shall." 
She  stopped  suddenly  as  she  caught  sight  of  his  grave  face 
and  keen,  observant  eyes.  "  Why  can't  we  go  on  as  we 
are  ?  " 

"  Because  we  are  expected  to  come  back  to  the  coach  — 
and  not  to  the  summit  merely.  These  are  the  '  orders,'  and 
you  know  you  are  a  soldier's  daughter  !  "  He  laughed  as 
he  spoke,  but  there  was  a  certain  quiet  deliberation  in  his 
manner  that  impressed  her.  When  he  added,  after  a  pause, 
"  We  must  go  back  and  find  where  the  tracks  turned  off," 
she  obeyed  without  a  word. 


246  DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD 

They  walked  for  some  time,  eagerly  searching  for  signs 
of  the  missing  vehicle.  A  curious  interest  and  a  new  reli 
ance  in  Boyle's  judgment  obliterated  her  previous  annoy 
ance,  and  made  her  more  natural.  She  ran  ahead  of  him 
with  youthful  eagerness,  examining  the  ground,  following 
a  false  clue  with  great  animation,  and  confessing  her  defeat 
with  a  charming  laugh.  And  it  was  she  who,  after  retracing 
their  steps  for  ten  minutes,  found  the  diverging  track  with 
a  girlish  cry  of  triumph.  Boyle,  who  had  followed  her 
movements  quite  as  interestedly  as  her  discovery,  looked  a 
little  grave  as  he  noticed  the  deep  indentations  made  by 
the  struggling  horses.  Miss  Cantire  detected  the  change  in 
his  face ;  ten  minutes  before  she  would  never  have  ob 
served  it.  "  I  suppose  we  had  better  follow  the  new 
track,"  she  said  inquiringly,  as  he  seemed  to  hesitate. 

"  Certainly,"  he  said  quickly,  as  if  coming  to  a  prompt 
decision.  "  That  is  safest." 

"  What  do  you  think  has  happened  ?  The  ground  looks 
very  much  cut  up,"  she  said  in  a  confidential  tone,  as  new 
to  her  as  her  previous  observation  of  him. 

"A  horse  has  probably  stumbled  and  they  've  taken  the 
old  trail  as  less  difficult,"  said  Boyle  promptly.  In  his 
heart  he  did  not  believe  it,  yet  he  knew  that  if  anything 
serious  had  threatened  them  the  coach  would  have  waited 
in  the  road.  "  It 's  an  easier  trail  for  us,  though  I  suppose 
it 's  a  little  longer,"  he  added  presently. 

"  You  take  everything  so  good-humoredly,  Mr.  Boyle," 
she  said  after  a  pause. 

"It's  the  way  to  do  business,  Miss  Cantire,"  he  said. 
"  A  man  in  my  line  has  to  cultivate  it." 

She  wished  he  had  n't  said  that,  but,  nevertheless,  she 
returned  a  little  archly :  "  But  you  have  n't  any  business 
with  the  stage  company  nor  with  me,  although  I  admit  I 
intend  to  get  my  Dunstable  hereafter  from  your  firm  at  the 
wholesale  prices." 


DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD  247 

Before  he  could  reply,  the  detonation  of  two  gunshots, 
softened  by  distance,  floated  down  from  the  ridge  above 
them.  "  There  !  "  said  Miss  Cantire  eagerly.  "  Do  you 
hear  that  ?  " 

His  face  was  turned  towards  the  distant  ridge,  but  really 
that  she  might  not  question  his  eyes.  She  continued  with 
animation :  "  That 's  from  the  coach  —  to  guide  us  —  don't 
you  see  ?  " 

"  Yes/7  he  returned,  with  a  quick  laugh,  "  and  it  says 
hurry  up  —  mighty  quick  —  we  7re  tired  waiting  —  so  we  Jd 
better  push  on." 

"  Why  don't  you  answer  back  with  your  revolver  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Have  n't  got  one,"  he  said. 

"  Have  n't  got  one  ?  "  she  repeated  in  genuine  surprise. 
"  I  thought  you  gentlemen  who  are  traveling  always  carried 
one.  Perhaps  it's  inconsistent  with  your  gospel  of  good- 
humor." 

"  That 's  just  it,  Miss  Cantire,"  he  said  with  a  laugh. 
"You've  hit  it." 

"  Why,"  she  said  hesitatingly,  "  even  /  have  a  derringer 
—  a  very  little  one,  you  know,  which  I  carry  in  my  reti 
cule.  Captain  Richards  gave  it  to  me."  She  opened  her 
reticule  and  showed  a  pretty  ivory-handled  pistol.  The 
look  of  joyful  surprise  which  came  into  his  face  changed 
quickly  as  she  cocked  it  and  lifted  it  into  the  air.  He 
seized  her  arm  quickly. 

"  No,  please  don't,  you  might  want  it  —  I  mean  the  re 
port  won't  carry  far  enough.  It 's  a  very  useful  little  thing, 
for  all  that,  but  it 's  only  effective  at  close  quarters."  He 
kept  the  pistol  in  his  hand  as  they  walked  on.  But  Miss 
Cantire  noticed  this,  also  his  evident  satisfaction  when 
she  had  at  first  produced  it,  and  his  concern  when  she  was 
about  to  discharge  it  uselessly.  She  was  a  clever  girl,  and 
a  frank  one  to  those  she  was  inclined  to  trust.  And  she 


248  DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CAKD 

began  to  trust  this  stranger.  A  smile  stole  along  her  oval 
cheek. 

"  I  really  believe  you  're  afraid  of  something,  Mr.  Boyle," 
she  said,  without  looking  up.  "  What  is  it  ?  You  have  n't 
got  that  Indian  scare  too  ?  " 

Boyle  had  no  false  shame.  "  I  think  I  have,"  he  re 
turned,  with  equal  frankness.  "  You  see,  I  don't  under 
stand  Indians  as  well  as  you  —  and  Foster." 

"  Well,  you  take  my  word  and  Foster's  that  there  is  not 
the  least  danger  from  them.  About  here  they  are  merely 
grown-up  children,  cruel  and  destructive  as  most  children 
are ;  but  they  know  their  masters  by  this  time,  and  the  old 
days  of  promiscuous  scalping  are  over.  The  only  other 
childish  propensity  they  keep  is  thieving.  Even  then  they 
only  steal  what  they  actually  want,  —  horses,  guns,  and  pow 
der.  A  coach  can  go  where  an  ammunition  or  an  emigrant 
wagon  can't.  So  your  trunk  of  samples  is  quite  safe  with 
Foster." 

Boyle  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  protest.  Perhaps  he 
was  thinking  of  something  else. 

"  I  've  a  mind,"  she  went  on  slyly,  "  to  tell  you  some 
thing  more.  Confidence  for  confidence  :  as  you  've  told  me 
your  trade  secrets,  I  '11  tell  you  one  of  ours.  Before  we 
left  Pine  Barrens,  my  father  ordered  a  small  escort  of 
cavalrymen  to  be  in  readiness  to  join  that  coach  if  the 
scouts,  who  were  watching,  thought  it  necessary.  So,  you 
see,  I  'm  something  of  a  fraud  as  regards  my  reputation  for 
courage." 

"That  doesn't  follow,"  said  Boyle  admiringly,  "for 
your  father  must  have  thought  there  was  some  danger,  or 
he  wouldn't  have  taken  that  precaution." 

"  Oh,  it  was  n't  for  me,"  said  the  young  girl  quickly. 

"  Not  for  you  ?  "  repeated  Boyle. 

Miss  Cantire  stopped  short,  with  a  pretty  flush  of  color 
and  an  adorable  laugh.  "  There  !  I  'Ye  done  it,  so  I  might 


DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD  249 

as  well  tell  the  whole  story.  But  I  can  trust  you,  Mr. 
Boyle."  (She  faced  him  with  clear,  penetrating  eyes.) 
"  Well,"  she  laughed  again,  "  you  might  have  noticed  that 
we  had  a  quantity  of  baggage  of  passengers  who  didn't  go? 
Well,  those  passengers  never  intended  to  go,  and  had  n't 
any  baggage  !  Do  you  understand  ?  Those  innocent-look 
ing  heavy  trunks  contained  carbines  and  cartridges  from 
our  post  for  Fort  Taylor  "  —  she  made  him  a  mischievous 
curtsy  —  "  under  my  charge  !  And,"  she  added,  enjoying 
his  astonishment,  "  as  you  saw,  I  brought  them  through 
safe  to  the  station,  and  had  them  transferred  to  this  coach 
with  less  fuss  and  trouble  than  a  commissary  transport  and 
escort  would  have  made." 

"  And  they  were  in  this  coach  ?  "  repeated  Boyle  ab 
stractedly. 

"  Were  ?     They  are  !  "  said  Miss  Cantire. 

"  Then  the  sooner  I  get  you  back  to  your  treasure  again 
the  better,"  said  Boyle  with  a  laugh.  "  Does  Foster  know 
it?" 

"  Of  course  not !  Do  you  suppose  I  'd  tell  it  to  any 
body  but  a  stranger  to  the  place  ?  Perhaps,  like  you,  I 
know  when  and  to  whom  to  impart  information,"  she  said 
mischievously. 

Whatever  was  in  Boyle's  mind  he  had  space  for  profound 
and  admiring  astonishment  of  the  young  lady  before  him. 
The  girlish  simplicity  and  trustfulness  of  her  revelation 
seemed  as  inconsistent  with  his  previous  impression  of  her 
reserve  and  independence  as  her  girlish  reasoning  and 
manner  was  now  delightfully  at  variance  with  her  tallness, 
her  aquiline  nose,  and  her  erect  figure.  Mr.  Boyle,  like 
most  short  men,  was  apt  to  overestimate  the  qualities  of 
size. 

They  walked  on  for  some  moments  in  silence.  The 
ascent  was  comparatively  easy  but  devious,  and  Boyle  could 
see  that  this  new  detour  would  take  them  still  some  time 


250  DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD 

to  reach  the  summit.  Miss  Can  tire  at  last  voiced  the 
thought  in  his  own  mind.  "  I  wonder  what  induced  them 
to  turn  off  here  ?  and  if  you  had  n't  been  so  clever  as  to 
discover  their  tracks,  how  could  we  have  found  them  ? 
But,"  she  added,  with  feminine  logic,  "  that,  of  course,  is 
why  they  fired  those  shots." 

Boyle  remembered,  however,  that  the  shots  came  from 
another  direction,  but  did  not  correct  her  conclusion. 
Nevertheless  he  said  lightly  :  "  Perhaps  even  Foster  might 
have  had  an  Indian  scare." 

"  He  ought  to  know  '  f riendlies  '  or  { government  reser 
vation  men '  better  by  this  time,"  said  Miss  Cantire  ; 
"however,  there  is  something  in  that.  Do  you  know," 
she  added  with  a  laugh,  "  though  I  have  n't  your  keen 
eyes  I  'in  gifted  with  a  keen  scent,  and  once  or  twice  I  've 
thought  I  smelt  Indians  —  that  peculiar  odor  of  their 
camps,  which  is  unlike  anything  else,  and  which  one  de 
tects  even  in  their  ponies.  I  used  to  notice  it  when  I  rode 
one  ;  no  amount  of  grooming  could  take  it  away." 

"  I  don't  suppose  that  the  intensity  or  degree  of  this 
odor  would  give  you  any  idea  of  the  hostile  or  friendly 
feelings  of  the  Indians  towards  you  ?  "  asked  Boyle  grimly. 

Although  the  remark  was  consistent  with  Boyle's  objec 
tionable  reputation  as  a  humorist,  Miss  Cantire  deigned  to 
receive  it  with  a  smile,  at  which  Boyle,  who  was  a  little 
relieved  by  their  security  so  far,  and  their  nearness  to  their 
journey's  end,  developed  further  ingenious  trifling  until,  at 
the  end  of  an  hour,  they  stood  upon  the  plain  again. 

There  was  no  sign  of  the  coach,  but  its  fresh  track  was 
visible  leading  along  the  bank  of  the  ravine  towards  the 
intersection  of  the  road  they  should  have  come  by,  and  to 
which  the  coach  had  indubitably  returned.  Mr.  Boyle  drew 
a  long  breath.  They  were  comparatively  safe  from  any 
invisible  attack  now.  At  the  end  of  ten  minutes  Miss 
Cantire,  from  her  superior  height,  detected  the  top  of  the 


DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD  251 

missing  vehicle  appearing  above  the  stunted  bushes  at  the 
junction  of  the  highway. 

"Would  you  mind  throwing  those  old  flowers  away 
now  ?  "  she  said,  glancing  at  the  spoils  which  Boyle  still 
carried. 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  they  're  too  ridiculous.     Please  do." 

"  May  I  keep  one  ?  "  he  asked,  with  the  first  intonation 
of  masculine  weakness  in  his  voice. 

"  If  you  like,"  she  said,  a  little  coldly. 

Boyle  selected  a  small  spray  of  myrtle  and  cast  the  other 
flowers  obediently  aside. 

"  Dear  me,  how  ridiculous  !  "  she  said. 

"  What  is  ridiculous  ?  "  he  asked,  lifting  his  eyes  to 
hers  with  a  slight  color.  But  he  saw  that  she  was  strain 
ing  her  eyes  in  the  distance. 

1 '  Why,  there  don't  seem  to  be  any  horses  to  the  coach ! " 

He  looked.  Through  a  gap  in  the  furze  he  could  see  the 
vehicle  now  quite  distinctly,  standing  empty,  horseless  and 
alone.  He  glanced  hurriedly  around  them  ;  on  the  one  side 
a  few  rocks  protected  them  from  the  tangled  rim  of  the  ridge ; 
on  the  other  stretched  the  plain.  "  Sit  down,  don't  move 
until  I  return,"  he  said  quickly.  "Take  that."  He  handed 
back  her  pistol,  and  ran  quickly  to  the  coach.  It  was  no  il 
lusion  ;  there  it  stood  vacant,  abandoned,  its  dropped  pole 
and  cut  traces  showing  too  plainly  the  fearful  haste  of  its 
desertion  !  A  light  step  behind  him  made  him  turn.  It  was 
Miss  Cantire,  pink  and  breathless,  carrying  the  cocked  der 
ringer  in  her  hand.  "  How  foolish  of  you  —  without  a  wea 
pon,"  she  gasped  in  explanation. 

Then  they  both  stared  at  the  coach,  the  empty  plain,  and 
at  each  other  !  After  their  tedious  ascent,  their  long  detour, 
their  protracted  expectancy  and  their  eager  curiosity,  there 
was  such  a  suggestion  of  hideous  mockery  in  this  vacant, 
useless  vehicle  —  apparently  left  to  them  in  what  seemed 


252  DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD 

their  utter  abandonment  —  that  it  instinctively  affected  them 
alike.  And  as  I  am  writing  of  human  nature  I  am  compelled 
to  say  that  they  both  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter  that  for  the 
moment  stopped  all  other  expression  ! 

"  It  was  so  kind  of  them  to  leave  the  coach/'  said  Miss 
Cantire  faintly,  as  she  took  her  handkerchief  from  her  wet 
and  mirthful  eyes.  "  But  what  made  them  run  away  ?  " 

Boyle  did  not  reply  ;  he  was  eagerly  examining  the  coach. 
In  that  brief  hour  and  a  half  the  dust  of  the  plain  had  blown 
thick  upon  it,  and  covered  any  foul  stain  or  blot  that  might 
have  suggested  the  awful  truth.  Even  the  soft  imprint  of  the 
Indians'  moccasined  feet  had  been  trampled  out  by  the  later 
horse  hoofs  of  the  cavalrymen.  It  was  these  that  first 
attracted  Boyle's  attention,  but  he  thought  them  the  marks 
made  by  the  plunging  of  the  released  coach  horses. 

Not  so  his  companion !  She  was  examining  them  more 
closely,  and  suddenly  lifted  her  bright,  animated  face. 
"  Look  !  "  she  said  ;  "  our  men  have  been  here,  and  have 
had  a  hand  in  this  —  whatever  it  is." 

"  Our  men  ?  "  repeated  Boyle  blankly. 

«  Yes !  —  troopers  from  the  post  —  the  escort  I  told  you 
of.  These  are  the  prints  of  the  regulation  cavalry  horse 
shoe  —  not  of  Foster's  team,  nor  of  Indian  ponies,  who 
never  have  any  !  Don't  you  see  ?  "  she  went  on  eagerly ; 
"  our  men  have  got  wind  of  something  and  have  galloped 
down  here  —  along  the  ridge  —  see  !  "  she  went  on,  point 
ing  to  the  hoof  prints  coming  from  the  plain.  "  They  've 
anticipated  some  Indian  attack  and  secured  everything." 

"  But  if  they  were  the  same  escort  you  spoke  of,  they  must 
have  known  you  were  here,  and  have  "  —  he  was  about  to 
say  "  abandoned  you,"  but  checked  himself,  remembering 
they  were  her  father's  soldiers. 

"  They  knew  I  could  take  care  of  myself,  and  would  n't 
stand  in  the  way  of  their  duty,"  said  the  young  girl,  antici 
pating  him  with  quick  professional  pride  that  seemed  to  fit 


DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD  253 

her  aquiline  nose  and  tall  figure.  "  And  if  they  knew  that," 
she  added,  softening  with  a  mischievous  smile,  "they  also 
knew,  of  course,  that  I  was  protected  by  a  gallant  stranger 
vouched  for  by  Mr.  Foster  !  No  ! "  she  added,  with  a  cer 
tain  blind,  devoted  confidence,  which  Boyle  noticed  with  a 
slight  wince  that  she  had  never  shown  before,  "  it  9s  all  right ! 
and  '  by  orders,'  Mr.  Boyle,  and  when  they  've  done  their 
work  they  '11  be  back." 

But  Boyle's  masculine  common  sense  was,  perhaps,  safer 
than  Miss  Cantire's  feminine  faith  and  inherited  discipline, 
for  in  an  instant  he  suddenly  comprehended  the  actual  truth  ! 
The  Indians  had  been  there  first ;  they  had  despoiled  the 
coach  and  got  off  safely  with  their  booty  and  prisoners  on 
the  approach  of  the  escort,  who  were  now  naturally  pursu 
ing  them  with  a  fury  aroused  by  the  belief  that  their  com 
mander's  daughter  was  one  of  their  prisoners.  This  convic 
tion  was  a  dreadful  one,  yet  a  relief  as  far  as  the  young  girl 
was  concerned.  But  should  he  tell  her  ?  No !  Better 
that  she  should  keep  her  calm  faith  in  the  triumphant 
promptness  of  the  soldiers  —  and  their  speedy  return. 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  right,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "  and  let 
us  be  thankful  that  in  the  empty  coach  you  '11  have  at  least 
a  half-civilized  shelter  until  they  return.  Meantime  I  '11  go 
and  reconnoitre  a  little." 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  she  said. 

But  Boyle  pointed  out  to  her  so  strongly  the  necessity 
of  her  remaining  to  wait  for  the  return  of  the  soldiers  that, 
being  also  fagged  out  by  her  long  climb,  she  obediently  con 
sented,  while  he,  even  with  his  inspiration  of  the  truth,  did 
not  believe  in  the  return  of  the  despoilers,  and  knew  she 
would  be  safe. 

He  made  his  way  to  the  nearest  thicket,  where  he  rightly 
believed  the  ambush  had  been  prepared,  and  to  which  un 
doubtedly  they  first  retreated  with  their  booty.  He  expected 
to  find  some  signs  or  traces  of  their  spoil  which  in  their  haste 


254  DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD 

they  had  to  abandon.  He  was  more  successful  than  he  an 
ticipated.  A  few  steps  into  the  thicket  brought  him  full 
upon  a  realization  of  more  than  his  worst  convictions  —  the 
dead  body  of  Foster  !  Near  it  lay  the  body  of  the  mail  agent. 
Both  had  been  evidently  dragged  into  the  thicket  from  where 
they  fell,  scalped  and  half  stripped.  There  was  no  evidence 
of  any  later  struggle  ;  they  must  have  been  dead  when  they 
were  brought  there. 

Boyle  was  neither  a  hard-hearted  nor  an  unduly  sensitive 
man.  His  vocation  had  brought  him  peril  enough  by  land 
and  water ;  he  had  often  rendered  valuable  assistance  to 
others,  his  sympathy  never  confusing  his  directness  and  com 
mon  sense.  He  was  sorry  for  these  two  men,  and  would 
have  fought  to  save  them.  But  he  had  no  imaginative 
ideas  of  death.  And  his  keen  perception  of  the  truth  was 
consequently  sensitively  alive  only  to  that  grotesqueness 
of  aspect  which  too  often  the  hapless  victims  of  violence  are 
apt  to  assume.  He  saw  no  agony  in  the  vacant  eyes  of  the 
two  men  lying  on  their  backs  in  apparently  the  complacent 
abandonment  of  drunkenness,  which  was  further  simulated 
by  their  tumbled  and  disordered  hair  matted  by  coagulated 
blood,  which,  however,  had  lost  its  sanguine  color.  He 
thought  only  of  the  unsuspecting  girl  sitting  in  the  lonely 
coach,  and  hurriedly  dragged  them  further  into  the  bushes. 
In  doing  this  he  discovered  a  loaded  revolver  and  a  flask  of 
spirits  which  had  been  lying  under  them,  and  promptly 
secured  them.  A  few  paces  away  lay  the  coveted  trunks 
of  arms  and  ammunition,  their  lids  wrenched  off  and  their 
contents  gone.  He  noticed  with  a  grim  smile  that  his  own 
trunks  of  samples  had  shared  a  like  fate,  but  was  delighted 
to  find  that  while  the  brighter  trifles  had  attracted  the  In 
dians'  childish  cupidity  they  had  overlooked  a  heavy  black 
merino  shawl  of  a  cheap  but  serviceable  quality.  It  would 
help  to  protect  Miss  Cantire  from  the  evening  wind,  which 
was  already  rising  over  the  chill  and  stark  plain.  It  also 


DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD  255 

occurred  to  him  that  she  would  need  water  after  her  parched 
journey,  and  he  resolved  to  look  for  a  spring,  being  rewarded 
at  last  by  a  trickling  rill  near  the  ambush  camp.  But  he 
had  no  utensil  except  the  spirit  flask,  which  he  finally  emptied 
of  its  contents  and  replaced  with  the  pure  water  —  a  heroic 
sacrifice  to  a  traveler  who  knew  the  comfort  of  a  stimulant. 
He  retraced  his  steps,  and  was  just  emerging  from  the  thicket 
when  his  quick  eye  caught  sight  of  a  moving  shadow  before 
him  close  to  the  ground,  which  set  the  hot  blood  coursing 
through  his  veins. 

It  was  the  figure  of  an  Indian  crawling  on  his  hands  and 
knees  towards  the  coach,  scarcely  forty  yards  away.  For  the 
first  time  that  afternoon  Boyle's  calm  good-humor  was  over- 
swept  by  a  blind  and  furious  rage.  Yet  even  then  he  was 
sane  enough  to  remember  that  a  pistol  shot  would  alarm  the 
girl,  and  to  keep  that  weapon  as  a  last  resource.  For  an 
instant  he  crept  forward  as  silently  and  stealthily  as  the 
savage,  and  then,  with  a  sudden  bound,  leaped  upon  him, 
driving  his  head  and  shoulders  down  against  the  rocks  before 
he  could  utter  a  cry,  and  sending  the  scalping  knife  he  was 
carrying  between  his  teeth  flying  with  the  shock  from  his 
battered  jaw.  Boyle  seized  it  —  his  knee  still  in  the  man's 
back  —  but  the  prostrate  body  never  moved  beyond  a  slight 
contraction  of  the  lower  limbs.  The  shock  had  broken  the 
Indian's  neck.  He  turned  the  inert  man  on  his  back  —  the 
head  hung  loosely  on  the  side.  But  in  that  brief  instant 
Boyle  had  recognized  the  "  friendly  "  Indian  of  the  station 
to  whom  he  had  given  the  card. 

He  rose  dizzily  to  his  feet.  The  whole  action  had  passed 
in  a  few  seconds  of  time,  and  had  not  even  been  noticed  by 
the  sole  occupant  of  the  coach.  He  mechanically  cocked 
his  revolver,  but  the  man  beneath  him  never  moved  again. 
Neither  was  there  any  sign  of  flight  or  reinforcement  from 
the  thicket  around  him.  Again  the  whole  truth  flashed  upon 
him.  This  spy  and  traitor  had  been  left  behind  by  the 


256  DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD 

marauders  to  return  to  the  station  and  avert  suspicion ;  he 
had  been  lurking  around,  but  being  without  firearms,  had 
not  dared  to  attack  the  pair  together. 

It  was  a  moment  or  two  before  Boyle  regained  his  usual 
elastic  good-humor.  Then  he  coolly  returned  to  the  spring, 
"  washed  himself  of  the  Indian,"  as  he  grimly  expressed  it 
to  himself,  brushed  his  clothes,  picked  up  the  shawl  and 
flask,  and  returned  to  the  coach.  It  was  getting  dark  now, 
but  the  glow  of  the  western  sky  shone  unimpeded  through 
the  windows,  and  the  silence  gave  him  a  great  fear.  He  was 
relieved,  however,  on  opening  the  door,  to  find  Miss  Cantire 
sitting  stiffly  in  a  corner.  "  I  am  sorry  I  was  so  long,"  he 
said,  apologetically  to  her  attitude,  "  but "  — 

"  I  suppose  you  took  your  own  time,"  she  interrupted  in 
a  voice  of  injured  tolerance.  "  I  don't  blame  you ;  any 
thing  's  better  than  being  cooped  up  in  this  tiresome  stage 
for  goodness  knows  how  long !  " 

"  I  was  hunting  for  water,"  he  said  humbly,  "and  have 
brought  you  some."  He  handed  her  the  flask. 

"  And  I  see  you  have  had  a  wash,"  she  said  a  little  envi 
ously.  "  How  spick  and  span  you  look  !  But  what 's  the 
matter  with  your  necktie  ?  " 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  neck  hurriedly.  His  necktie  was 
loose,  and  had  twisted  to  one  side  in  the  struggle.  He  col 
ored  quite  as  much  from  the  sensitiveness  of  a  studiously 
neat  man  as  from  the  fear  of  discovery.  "And  what's 
that  ?  "  she  added,  pointing  to  the  shawl. 

"  One  of  my  samples  that  I  suppose  was  turned  out  of 
the  coach  and  forgotten  in  the  transfer,"  he  said  glibly.  "  I 
thought  it  might  keep  you  warm." 

She  looked  at  it  dubiously  and  laid  it  gingerly  aside. 
"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  go  about  with  such  things 
openly  ?  "  she  said  querulously. 

"  Yes ;  one  must  n't  lose  a  chance  of  trade,^ou  know," 
he  resumed  with  a  smile. 


DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD  257 

"And  you  haven't  found  this  journey  very  profitable," 
she  said  dryly.  "  You  certainly  are  devoted  to  your  busi 
ness !"  After  a  pause,  discontentedly:  "It's  quite  night 
already  —  we  can't  sit  here  in  the  dark." 

"  We  can  take  one  of  the  coach  lamps  inside ;  they  're 
still  there.  I've  been  thinking  the  matter  over,  and  I 
reckon  if  we  leave  one  lighted  outside  the  coach  it  may 
guide  your  friends  back."  He  had  considered  it,  and  be 
lieved  that  the  audacity  of  the  act,  coupled  with  the  know 
ledge  the  Indians  must  have  of  the  presence  of  the  soldiers 
in  the  vicinity,  would  deter  rather  than  invite  their  ap 
proach. 

She  brightened  considerably  with  the  coach  lamp  which 
he  lit  and  brought  inside.  By  its  light  she  watched  him 
curiously.  His  face  was  slightly  flushed  and  his  eyes  very 
bright  and  keen  looking.  Man  killing,  except  with  old 
professional  hands,  has  the  disadvantage  of  affecting  the 
circulation. 

But  Miss  Cantire  had  noticed  that  the  flask  smelt  of 
whiskey.  The  poor  man  had  probably  fortified  himself  from 
the  fatigues  of  the  day. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  getting  bored  by  this  delay,"  she  said 
tentatively. 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  replied.  "  Would  you  like  to  play 
cards  ?  I  've  got  a  pack  in  my  pocket.  We  can  use  the 
middle  seat  as  a  table,  and  hang  the  lantern  by  the  window 
strap.'i 

She  assented  languidly  from  the  back  seat ;  he  was  on  the 
front  seat,  with  the  middle  seat  for  a  table  between  them. 
First  Mr.  Boyle  showed  her  some  tricks  with  the  cards  and 
kindled  her  momentary  and  flashing  interest  in  a  mysteri 
ously  evoked  but  evanescent  knave.  Then  they  played 
euchre,  at  which  Miss  Cantire  cheated  adorably,  and  Mr. 
Boyle  lost  game  after  game  shamelessly.  Then  once  or 
twice  Miss  Cantire  was  fain  to  put  her  cards  to  her  mouth 


258  DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD 

to  conceal  an  apologetic  yawn,  and  her  blue-veined  eyelids 
grew  heavy.  Whereupon  Mr.  Boyle  suggested  that  she 
should  make  herself  comfortable  in  the  corner  of  the  coach 
with  as  many  cushions  as  she  liked  and  the  despised  shawlf 
while  he  took  the  night  air  in  a  prowl  around  the  coach  and 
a  lookout  for  the  returning  party.  Doing  so,  he  was  de 
lighted,  after  a  turn  or  two,  to  find  her  asleep,  and  so  re 
turned  contentedly  to  his  sentry  round. 

He  was  some  distance  from  the  coach  when  a  low  moan 
ing  sound  in  the  thicket  presently  increased  until  it  rose 
and  fell  in  a  prolonged  howl  that  was  repeated  from  the 
darkened  plains  beyond.  He  recognized  the  voice  of  wolves ; 
he  instinctively  felt  the  sickening  cause  of  it.  They  had 
scented  the  dead  bodies,  and  he  now  regretted  that  he  had 
left  his  own  victim  so  near  the  coach.  He  was  hastening 
thither  when  a  cry,  this  time  human  and  more  terrifying, 
came  from  the  coach.  He  turned  towards  it  as  its  door 
flew  open  and  Miss  Can  tire  came  rushing  toward  him.  Her 
face  was  colorless,  her  eyes  wild  with  fear,  and  her  tall,  slim 
figure  trembled  convulsively  as  she  frantically  caught  at 
the  lapels  of  his  coat,  as  if  to  hide  herself  within  its  folds, 
and  gasped  breathlessly,  — 

"  What  is  it  ?     Oh  !  Mr.  Boyle,  save  me  !  " 

"  They  are  wolves,"  he  said  hurriedly.  "  But  there  is 
no  danger ;  they  would  never  attack  you ;  you  were  safe 
where  you  were  ;  let  me  lead  you  back." 

But  she  remained  rooted  to  the  spot,  still  clinging  des 
perately  to  his  coat.  "  No,  no  !  "  she  said,  "  I  dare  not ! 
I  heard  that  awful  cry  in  my  sleep.  I  looked  out  and  saw 
it  —  a  dreadful  creature  with  yellow  eyes  and  tongue,  and 
a  sickening  breath  as  it  passed  between  the  wheels  just 
below  me.  Ah  !  What 's  that  ?  "  and  she  again  lapsed  in 
nervous  terror  against  him. 

Boyle  passed  his  arm  around  her  promptly,  firmly,  mas 
terfully.  She  seemed  to  feel  the  implied  protection,  and 


DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD  259 

yielded  to  it  gratefully,  with  the  further  breakdown  of  a  sob. 
"  There  is  no  danger,"  he  repeated  cheerfully.  "  Wolves 
are  riot  good  to  look  at,  I  know,  but  they  would  n't  have 
attacked  you.  The  beast  only  scents  some  carrion  on  the 
plain,  and  you  probably  frightened  him  more  than  he  did 
you.  Lean  on  me,"  he  continued  as  her  step  tottered; 
"  you  will  be  better  in  the  coach." 

"  And  you  won't  leave  me  alone  again  ?  "  she  said  in 
hesitating  terror. 

"No!" 

He  supported  her  to  the  coach  gravely,  gently  —  her 
master  and  still  more  his  own  —  for  all  that  her  beautiful 
loosened  hair  was  against  his  cheek  and  shoulder,  its  per 
fume  in  his  nostrils,  and  the  contour  of  her  lithe  and  perfect 
figure  against  his  own.  He  helped  her  back  into  the  coach, 
with  the  aid  of  the  cushions  and  shawl  arranged  a  reclin 
ing  couch  for  her  on  the  back  seat,  and  then  resumed  his  old 
place  patiently.  By  degrees  the  color  came  back  to  her 
face  —  as  much  of  it  as  was  not  hidden  by  her  handkerchief. 

Then  a  tremulous  voice  behind  it  began  a  half-smothered 
apology.  "  I  am  so  ashamed,  Mr.  Boyle  —  I  really  could 
not  help  it !  But  it  was  so  sudden  —  and  so  horrible  —  I 
should  n't  have  been  afraid  of  it  had  it  been  really  an  In 
dian  with  a  scalping  knife  —  instead  of  that  beast !  I  don't 
know  why  I  did  it  —  but  I  was  alone  —  and  seemed  to  be 
dead  —  and  you  were  dead  too  —  and  they  were  coming  to 
eat  me  !  They  do,  you  know  —  you  said  so  just  now  !  Per 
haps  I  was  dreaming.  I  don't  know  what  you  must  think 
of  me  —  I  had  no  idea  I  was  such  a  coward !  " 

But  Boyle  protested  indignantly.  He  was  sure  if  he  had 
been  asleep  and  had  not  known  what  wolves  were  before, 
he  would  have  been  equally  frightened.  She  must  try  to 
go  to  sleep  again  —  he  was  sure  she  could  —  and  he  would 
not  stir  from  the  coach  until  she  waked,  or  her  friends 
came. 


260  DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CAED 

She  grew  quieter  presently,  and  took  away  the  handker 
chief  from  a  mouth  that  smiled  though  it  still  quivered ; 
then  reaction  began,  and  her  tired  nerves  brought  her  lan 
guor  and  finally  repose.  Boyle  watched  the  shadows  thicken 
around  her  long  lashes  until  they  lay  softly  on  the  faint 
flush  that  sleep  was  bringing  to  her  cheek  ;  her  delicate  lips 
parted,  and  her  quick  breath  at  last  came  with  the  regular 
ity  of  slumber. 

So  she  slept,  and  he,  sitting  silently  opposite  her,  dreamed 
—  the  old  dream  that  comes  to  most  good  men  and  true  once 
in  their  lives.  He  scarcely  moved  until  the  dawn  lightened 
with  opal  the  dreary  plain,  bringing  back  the  horizon  and 
day,  when  he  woke  from  his  dream  with  a  sigh,  and  then  a 
laugh.  Then  he  listened  for  the  sound  of  distant  hoofs,  and 
hearing  them,  crept  noiselessly  from  the  coach.  A  compact 
body  of  horsemen  were  bearing  down  upon  it.  He  rose 
quickly  to  meet  them,  and  throwing  up  his  hand,  brought 
them  to  a  halt  at  some  distance  from  the  coach.  They 
spread  out,  resolving  themselves  into  a  dozen  troopers  and 
a  smart  young  cadet-like  officer. 

"  If  you  are  seeking  Miss  Cantire,"  he  said  in  a  quiet, 
businesslike  tone,  "  she  is  quite  safe  in  the  coach  and  asleep. 
She  knows  nothing  yet  of  what  has  happened,  and  believes 
it  is  you  who  have  taken  everything  away  for  security  against 
an  Indian  attack.  She  has  had  a  pretty  rough  night  — 
what  with  her  fatigue  and  her  alarm  at  the  wolves  —  and  I 
thought  it  best  to  keep  the  truth  from  her  as  long  as  pos 
sible,  and  I  would  advise  you  to  break  it  to  her  gently." 
He  then  briefly  told  the  story  of  their  experiences,  omitting 
only  his  own  personal  encounter  with  the  Indian.  A  new 
pride,  which  was  perhaps  the  result  of  his  vigil,  prevented 
him. 

The  young  officer  glanced  at  him  with  as  much  courtesy 
as  might  be  afforded  to  a  civilian  intruding  upon  active 
military  operations.  "I  am  sure  Major  Cantire  will  be 


DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD  261 

greatly  obliged  to  you  when  he  knows  it,"  he  said  politely, 
"  and  as  we  intend  to  harness  up  and  take  the  coach  back  to 
Sage  Wood  Station  immediately,  you  will  have  an  opportu 
nity  of  telling  him." 

"  I  am  not  going  back  by  the  coach  to  Sage  Wood,"  said 
Boyle  quietly.  "  I  have  already  lost  twelve  hours  of  my 
time  —  as  well  as  my  trunk  —  on  this  picnic,  and  I  reckon 
the  least  Major  Cantire  can  do  is  to  let  me  take  one  of  your 
horses  to  the  next  station  in  time  to  catch  the  down  coach. 
I  can  do  it,  if  I  set  out  at  once." 

Boyle  heard  his  name,  with  the  familiar  prefix  of  "  Dicky," 
given  to  the  officer  by  a  commissary  sergeant,  whom  he  re 
cognized  as  having  met  at  the  Agency,  and  the  words  "  Chicago 
drummer  "  added,  while  a  perceptible  smile  went  through 
out  the  group.  "  Very  well,  sir,"  said  the  officer,  with  a 
familiarity  a  shade  less  respectful  than  his  previous  formal 
manner.  "  You  can  take  the  horse,  as  I  believe  the  In 
dians  have  already  made  free  with  your  samples.  Give  him 
a  mount,  sergeant." 

The  two  men  walked  towards  the  coach.  Boyle  lingered 
a  moment  at  the  window  to  show  him  the  figure  of  Miss 
Cantire  still  peacefully  slumbering  among  her  pile  of  cush 
ions,  and  then  turned  quietly  away.  A  moment  later  he 
was  galloping  on  one  of  the  troopers'  horses  across  the  empty 
plain. 

Miss  Cantire  awoke  presently  to  the  sound  of  a  familiar 
voice  and  the  sight  of  figures  that  she  knew.  But  the  young 
officer's  first  words  of  explanation  —  a  guarded  account  of  the 
pursuit  of  the  Indians  and  the  recapture  of  the  arms,  sup 
pressing  the  killing  of  Foster  and  the  mail  agent  —  brought 
a  change  to  her  brightened  face  and  a  wrinkle  to  her  pretty 
brow. 

"  But  Mr.  Boyle  said  nothing  of  this  to  me,"  she  said, 
sitting  up.  "  Where  is  he  ?  " 


262  DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD 

"  Already  on  his  way  to  the  next  station  on  one  of  our 
horses  !  Wanted  to  catch  the  down  stage  and  get  a  new 
box  of  samples,  I  fancy,  as  the  braves  had  rigged  themselves 
out  with  his  laces  and  ribbons.  Said  he  'd  lost  time  enough 
on  this  picnic,"  returned  the  young  officer,  with  a  laugh. 
"  Smart  business  chap ;  but  I  hope  he  did  n't  bore  you  ?  " 

Miss  Cantire  felt  her  cheek  flush,  and  bit  her  lip.  "  I 
found  him  most  kind  and  considerate,  Mr.  Ashford,"  she 
said  coldly.  "  He  may  have  thought  the  escort  could 
have  joined  the  coach  a  little  earlier,  and  saved  all  this  ; 
but  he  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  say  anything  about 
it  to  me,"  she  added  dryly,  with  a  slight  elevation  of  her 
aquiline  nose. 

Nevertheless  Boyle's  last  words  stung  her  deeply.  To 
hurry  off,  too,  without  saying  "  good-by,"  or  even  asking 
how  she  slept !  No  doubt  he  had  lost  time,  and  was  tired 
of  her  company,  and  thought  more  of  his  precious  samples 
than  of  her  !  After  all,  it  was  like  him  to  rush  off  for  an 
order ! 

She  was  half  inclined  to  call  the  young  officer  back  and 
tell  him  how  Boyle  had  criticised  her  costume  on  the  road. 
But  Mr.  Ashford  was  at  that  time  entirely  preoccupied  with 
his  men  around  a  ledge  of  rock  and  bushes  some  yards  from 
the  coach,  yet  not  so  far  away  but  that  she  could  hear  what 
they  said.  "  I  '11  swear  there  was  no  dead  Injin  here  when 
we  came  yesterday  !  We  searched  the  whole  place  —  by 
daylight,  too  —  for  any  sign.  The  Injin  was  killed  in  his 
tracks  by  some  one  last  night.  It 's  like  Dick  Boyle,  lieu 
tenant,  to  have  done  it,  and  like  him  to  have  said  nothin' 
to  frighten  the  young  lady.  He  knows  when  to  keep  his 
mouth  shut  —  and  when  to  open  it." 

Miss  Cantire  sank  back  in  her  corner  as  the  officer  turned 
and  approached  the  coach.  The  incident  of  the  past  night 
flashed  back  upon  her  —  Mr.  Boyle's  long  absence,  his 
flushed  face,  twisted  necktie,  and  enforced  cheerfulness.  She 


DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CARD  263 

was  shocked,  amazed,  discomfited  —  and  admiring  !  And 
this  hero  had  been  sitting  opposite  to  her,  silent  all  the  rest 
of  the  night ! 

"  Did  Mr.  Boyle  say  anything  of  an  Indian  attack  last 
night  ?  "  asked  Ashford.  "  Did  you  hear  anything  ?  " 

"  Only  the  wolves  howling,"  said  Miss  Cantire.  "  Mr. 
Boyle  was  away  twice."  She  was  strangely  reticent  —  in 
complimentary  imitation  of  her  missing  hero. 

"  There 's  a  dead  Indian  here  who  has  been  killed,"  be 
gan  Ashford. 

"  Oh,  please  don't  say  anything  more,  Mr.  Ashford,"  in 
terrupted  the  young  lady,  "  but  let  .us  get  away  from  this 
horrid  place  at  once.  Do  get  the  horses  in.  I  can't  stand  it." 

But  the  horses  were  already  harnessed  and  mounted, 
postilion-wise,  by  the  troopers.  The  vehicle  was  ready  to 
start  when  Miss  Cantire  called  "  Stop  !  " 

When  Ashford  presented  himself  at  the  door,  the  young 
lady  was  upon  her  hands  and  knees,  searching  the  bottom 
of  the  coach.  "  Oh,  dear  !  1 've  lost  something.  I  must 
have  dropped  it  on  the  road,"  she  said  breathlessly,  with 
pink  cheeks.  "  You  must  positively  wait  and  let  me  go 
back  and  find  it.  I  wron't  be  long.  You  know  there  's 
'  no  hurry.' " 

Mr.  Ashford  stared  as  Miss  Cantire  skipped  like  a  school 
girl  from  the  coach  and  ran  down  the  trail  by  which  she 
and  Boyle  had  approached  the  coach  the  night  before.  She 
had  not  gone  far  before  she  came  upon  the  withered  flowers 
he  had  thrown  away  at  her  command.  "  It  must  be  about 
here,"  she  _  murmured.  Suddenly  she  uttered  a  cry  of 
delight,  and  picked  up  the  business  card  that  Boyle  had 
shown  her.  Then  she  looked  furtively  around  her,  and, 
selecting  a  sprig  of  myrtle  among  the  cast-off  flowers,  con 
cealed  it  in  her  mantle  and  ran  back,  glowing,  to  the  coach. 
"  Thank  you !  All  right,  I  've  found  it,"  she  called  to 
Ashford,  with  a  dazzling  smile,  and  leaped  inside. 


264  DICK  BOYLE'S  BUSINESS  CAED 

The  coach  drove  on,  and  Miss  Cantire,  alone  in  its  re 
cesses,  drew  the  myrtle  from  her  mantle  and  folding  it  care 
fully  in  her  handkerchief,  placed  it  in  her  reticule.  Then 
she  drew  out  the  card,  read  its  dryly  practical  information 
over  and  over  again,  examined  the  soiled  edges,  brushed 
them  daintily,  and  held  it  for  a  moment,  with  eyes  that  saw 
not,  motionless  in  her  hand.  Then  she  raised  it  slowly  to 
her  lips,  rolled  it  into  a  spiral,  and,  loosening  a  hook  and 
eye,  thrust  it  gently  into  her  bosom. 

And  Dick  Boyle,  galloping  away  to  the  distant  station, 
did  not  know  that  the  first  step  towards  a  realization  of  his 
foolish  dream  had  been  taken ! 


Electrotyped  and printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &»  Co. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.  A. 


BRET   HARTE'S   WORKS 


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APPRECIATIONS  OF  BRET    HARTE 

HAT  American  of  the  last  generation 
has  equaled  or  come  anywhere  near 
equaling  Bret  Harte  in  vigor,  original 
ity,  unforced  humor,  and  pathos  ?  The 
man  was  an  artist." 

New  York  Sun. 

"  So  long  as  short  stories  are  prized,  a  goodly  number 
of  his  will  be  honorably  remembered  wherever  Eng- 
lish  is  read." 

New  York  Tribune. 

"  Bret  Harte  created  for  us  a  world  of  honest,  whole 
some  laughter." 

Boston  Advertiser. 

"  In  his  own  field  Bret  Harte  was  not  only  original 
but  inimitable.  His  place  in  American  literary  his 
tory  is  as  secure  as  it  is  conspicuous." 

Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  Mr.  Harte's  talent  for  the  short  story  has  never 
been  equaled." 

Philadelphia  Press. 

"  No  writer  of  the  present  day  has  struck  so  powerful 
and  original  a  note  as  he  has  sounded.  In  his  best 
tales  he  forgets  all  other  literature,  and  sees  and  is 
possessed  solely  by  the  life  he  portrays." 

The  Spectator,  London. 

"  Bret  Harte  will  live  in  the  English  language  as  the 
pioneer  of  the  short  story." 

Pall  Mall  Gazette,  London. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 
Boston  and  New  York 


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